Innocence Lost
by escrito
Summary: Your first love is the most unforgettable. Your first heartbreak, the most painful. It seems the only option is for revenge but how far will Isabella go? Edward/Bella Mature content.
1. Chapter 1  Like the Angel

"**Like the angel you are,**

**You laugh, creating a lightness in my chest.**

**Your eyes, they penetrate me**

**(Now that is too amazing)**

**That's when I got up and left."**

**- Like The Angel, Rise Against**

**CHAPTER 1 – LIKE THE ANGEL**

The summer grass rolled in waves with the wind. Brilliant dark green that shone as the sun hit the stalks of thin sweet-smelling greenery. The drifting pollen from the flowery shrubbery dusted my arms like talc. Half dreaming, half thinking, listening to the high, sweet song of a robin perched upon a branch of an ash tree where I lay. If I open my eyes, I can probably see the tiny brown shadow with a splash of orange on its feathered breast. It will be suspended like a paper origami from some invisible string, so high it appears to be flying toward the sun, a small being full of songs solely engaged in expressing its joy in its simple life.

Such is the simple life of living in Forks.

Jake's ears perked up. He burst forth and ran suddenly from his curled position near my bare feet, barking furiously; his predominantly dark eyes bright, his soft brown fur standing on its ends as something caught his attention.

A lazy smile curled my lips. _Probably a rabbit._ Jake, a five-year-old brown lab is always chasing something or someone. But he's harmless. He has been my companion since I was twelve years old; a birthday gift from dear old Dad.

He kept barking behind the hedges that hid me from pedestrian and traffic, which was barely existent in these parts of Forks. That's the reason why Charlie moved us from Seattle to this tiny town of three thousand people. But out here, back, back…waaaay back in the woods, we'd be lucky if there were at least a couple of cars that passed by in a day.

Maybe it was the fierce howling of the wind, but there was something different that accompanied the familiar sounds of the meadow. I squinted my right eye and tried to make out Jake's form. His tail wagged in excitement as half of his body burrowed inside the low hedges.

Then I heard it. The racing throb of a car engine breaking the warm symphony of nature, careening in a devil of a speed that was probably way pass the limit in all of continental United States. A car engine was the last sound I expected to hear down here. Lily Hill was unsuitable for cars—the steep sides and rough gravel road made it dangerous for them, and a sign at the top of the hill, where the narrow lane turned off, made that clear to motorists.

I stand up shakily on my sleeping legs, shrugging the pins and needles off. The car was coming too fast. Jake was standing at bay, barking with snapping jaws. I run toward the hedges, my heart speeding at an alarming rate. And as I broke through the shrubbery, a car sweeps past us.

I got a brief glimpse of the shiny, black paintwork, wide tires that did not belong anywhere but at an autobahn…or a classic car garage for that matter. It's a vintage car with tinted windows and shiny body.

I was hypnotized for a millisecond when the crash came with a splintering, scratching, splitting sound of glass, metal and wood on impact.

I was through the hedges, ignoring the bare branches that scratched my legs and started running, unconscious of my bare feet on the rough surface of the graveled road. My tumbled waist length auburn hair flew in every direction from my shoulders as I exasperatingly try and keep them off my face. Something tells me to run faster so I pushed my legs harder, closer to the smoking car.

I breathed a sigh of relief that the car was a convertible; otherwise, I don't think I'd be able to help the driver. The car idled low and eventually sputtered to its quiet demise. There was some hissing sound coming from its hood and smoke from its grills.

The dark head of the driver lay forward on the steering wheel, his shoulders slumped. I jumped on to the passenger seat and gently lifted his head. His forehead was creased in a frown, his cheek was cut and bleeding, but as I touched him, his lids drew back and he looked at me with glazed eyes. He blinked and an odd smile curved the corners of his hard mouth. He was perfection personified.

"Perfect…a dark haired angel," he murmured. "I should've known."

After a brief second or two of surprise, I laughed. "If I help you, can you walk? I know I'm not supposed to move you but I think we should get you out of the car as soon as possible." The hissing sound seemed louder as I picture flames licking and engulfing the both of us alive.

His eyes were slowly clearing, the sunshine giving them a bright silvery sheen. Green. Like the pale leaves of spring. "You mean, I'm alive?" he said, half questioning his sanity.

"Yeah," I nodded. "But there's a terrible smell of gas around here. I really think you should come out of your car."

"Do you have a cell phone?" he asked unsteadily.

"I'm sorry, I don't. My father, Charlie, is not a big fan of technology… so yeah, no cell phones." I added almost out of breath.

I reached across from him, unbuckling his seat belt and froze when his hand started stroking my arm. I swallowed noisily and ignore the sudden surge of warmth that would soon manifest through my face in a furious blush.

"Uhm…if I pull, can you hoist yourself out?" I looked up to find that our faces were merely inches off each other; that if I moved or if he moved, our lips would touch and we would kiss. I cleared my throat and pulled away from him. He smelled nice, sweet and musky.

"Hang on," he said, sitting up with a wince. "Come around and see if you can open my door."

The car sideswiped a tree, his door crushed against the trunk.

"I don't think so. Your door is pretty well damaged, it's not going to budge unless I use the jaws of life, which well, what does a seventeen year old girl be doing lugging around a piece of machinery like that?" I stammered nervously.

"Seventeen…" he said under his breath. He sounded—regretful?

He was probably suffering from a concussed head judging by the confused crease of his brows.

Ignoring the weird feeling in my stomach, I slid an arm around his waist and started pulling him to the passenger side. A few painful moans and grunts later, he sat on the leather seat with his feet planted flat on the gravel road.

I chewed on my lip nervously. The longer we stay out here with his injuries unattended, I worried that he was going to get worse.

"I really think we should go." I told him with more gusto that I intended.

"Stand still and I'll try to get up under my own strength." He stood up shakily while I moved slightly aside, ready to catch him if he showed signs of falling.

He had a tall, lean body, casually dressed in pressed khaki pants and a black golf shirt. He looked fit and strong and older—much, much older than me. He moved with the pain clear on his face but he was trying. A couple of steps later, he swayed and I quickly moved close beside him, my arm slipping around his waist.

"Lean on me," I commanded.

He obeyed, the weight of his long frame sagged against me. He was six foot two of pure muscle. He was hard and strong everywhere. I guided him slowly along the road toward our house.

Jake eventually stopped barking and was watching us, his eyes curious. The house was at least a few yards still and he was really having a hard time keeping his body upright.

Sweat was breaking upon my face, and I can only imagine the sores I will have as pebble upon pebble dug deep on my feet. I tried not to show it after all, he was in much more pain than I was.

"I've got to sit down," he said through gritted teeth. Sucking in air in between his tight lips, his hands clenched into fists as waves of pain wracked his bruised body.

I helped him down on to the long grass, his back against the thick, burgeoning green hedge. He closed his eyes, slumping a little. His face was ashen and bruises as well as cuts are now much more visible on his hard-boned cheeks. I studied him curiously, and wondered what he was doing around here. He was a total stranger to me. I would've remembered if I'd ever seen his strikingly handsome face. He was not a man whom one would ever forget—a face that stands out in the crowd, the strongly modeled features reflected energy, power and the will to win. There was harshness in those eyes, sad and angry and somehow full of regrets. He was pale, not sickly pale but it was just the natural pallor of his skin. He has a sharp jaw, red lips, strong masculine nose and his bright green eyes made me think of budding spring leaves again.

Charlie would find him an interesting study.

I had inherited that much from my father, anyway—a fascination with faces. They crowded into my father's canvases, surprising one, because his passion for lonely places, which had brought them long ago to this town, seemed to rule out the love for human race. We used to live in Seattle; busy, bustling, well populated. My Dad had a condo on Beach Drive. It was perfect for an artist like him. He could conjure up inspiration simply by looking out the floor to ceiling windows that surrounded the house. Everywhere you look there was a spectacular view of the mountains and the of course the beach. But then he got tired of it. He got tired of being around people. He sold the condo and found this odd, old cottage in the fringes of Forks, several hours away from the city of Seattle. That was five years ago.

He painted loneliness quite beautifully. His art would sometimes reduce me to tears. He hasn't been the same since my mother Renee died in a car accident. I was six years old then. She hit another car head on, and I always think that she must've been drinking that night but I can't gather enough courage to ask Charlie. The pain in his eyes was always visible, kind of like the pain on this stranger's face. Tangible.

Charlie Swan is a brilliant artist. He had no time for softness, tenderness, and delicacy. His sketchbooks were crammed with faces from long ago when he and my mother had wandered around Europe. The dark Latin faces, the lined ones of Greek merchants that bore the deep marks of experience and suffering, hardship and resignation and it were these faces, which he transferred to his strange canvases. Never happy faces.

He had never painted me though.

Suddenly the lids flicked back from those green eyes and he looked at me sharply. Realizations were back in his face.

"How do you feel now?" I asked him gently.

"Fucking awful," he said, but there was a faint grin on his face. I think he was trying to shock me with his curse word. Being mostly alone with a person who has limited his dialogues to perfunctory greetings and civility, and not being exposed that much to society, the word, _fuck_ was almost sacrilege.

I blushed.

His small grin widened to a full smile.

"Where the hell am I? I turned off the road somewhere. I thought this road led to Churchill, but my brakes failed as I came down that bastard of a hill and I was helpless to stop my car from crashing."

"You must have missed the sign," I stated slowly. "Lily Hill isn't suitable for cars."

"I jus realized that, actually." He looked around at the warm, sunny meadow. "I supposed it's too much to expect there to be an auto shop anywhere around here?"

"In town," I said.

"How far is that?"

"About five miles."

He groaned. "Is there a phone around here?"

I smiled at the thought. The phone that Charlie has in the house was an old, rotary thing. It rarely rang. The only person that calls us was his agent and that's rare. He only calls when Charlie has an exhibition. He always made sure that all transactions were done even before he leaves the show. He doesn't like unnecessary noises. Phones, televisions, computers, all are banned from his house.

"We have one up at the house."

There was a strange silence while he regarded me, a wry look on his face.

"What were you doing here? Do you live in this paradise?"

I nodded and hid the smile at the word _paradise_. "I'll take you to the auto shop when you've rested. You really should sit still for a moment and be quiet."

He stared into my face fixedly. "Shouldn't you be at school?"

"I graduated high school last year," I told him. "I'm a bit of a geek and the Forks High authorities thought that I'm way too advanced so, I got my diploma and decided to take a year off—I'm not sure what to do about College. Charlie doesn't really want me to leave him and there's only a Community College here…it's in Port Angeles, which is still a two, three hour drive, and I don't have my license and he doesn't want me driving—" I took a deep breath and realized that I probably bored him to death. Words just came out of my mouth freely and awkwardly.

My cheeks colored as soon as I realized he was staring at me.

"You really shouldn't be talking…are you in state of shock?"

The green eyes glinted. "For an angel, you're very bossy," he said teasingly.

"That's the trouble with angels," I said quite seriously. "They're always right and we don't make mistakes."

"Not true," he said. "Lucifer was once an angel. He was God's right hand. But on the day of Creation, he rebelled against God because He wanted to make the human race in His likeness. Lucifer argued and begged God not to do so but God wanted to populate the Earth with people. So He created Adam and Eve and let them roam paradise freely. They could do anything they want, eat anything they want except for that apple. Lucifer had powers, you see, and decided to tempt Eve with the Forbidden Fruit. We all know what happened to the cursed apple. God found out what he did and vanished him to Earth. Do you know what his first mistake was?"

I shook my head.

"He was jealous," he said while he intently stared at my face. "He thought that just because God created the humans, he would no longer be loved. I think Lucifer still roams the Earth in some form or another," his green eyes shone in mischief. "He's waiting…just waiting," he added with a dangerous tone.

"Are you trying to scare me?" I asked him.

"Aren't you?" the mocking amusement in his face grew.

"I don't believe in God. I'm an eternal atheist. I believe in what I can see and what I can feel."

"Literal child, aren't you?"

"Realist is more like it. I do believe in angels though. I have to. I was an abandoned baby and grew up in an Italian convent. I was five years old when my father and mother found me."

His brows rose sharply. "An Italian convent? I should've known. That other-world look had to come from somewhere." His eyes ran slowly down over my white t-shirt, cut off jeans shorts and bare feet, my long tousled hair, the slightly sun kissed skin which bore no cosmetics, my mouth and clear, straight golden-brown eyes.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," I said and smiled meekly. "Eighteen in six weeks."

"And you look years younger," he told me, watching with a curious expression.

I smiled at him cheerfully, showing no sign of pique. "Charlie would like me to stay twelve all my life," I said, "Every time he sees me he groans, like I was literally aging in his very eyes."

"Charlie?" His eyes narrowed. "Who's Charlie?" He must really be out of it. I've mentioned his name so many times.

"My father," I said matter-of-factly, then gave him a scolding glance. "You really should be quiet for a while. You're very pale and you've had a shock."

He leaned back, his eyes closing. "You're right," he muttered. "My head hurts."

"Don't fall asleep, okay?" I asked him.

For a while, there was just silence. I contemplated on his fictional Lucifer story and found it interesting. He was wrong though. I'm not literal. But maybe there's some truth in his fable. I dissected and came to my own conclusion. I believe that Lucifer is the dark side in every one of us. If God sent his angels to watch over his children, then He also sent Lucifer to balance the good and evil. Otherwise, my biological parents would've never left me at the convent's doorsteps; accidents like what took my Mom away would've never happened. She would've never drunk too much that night and drove herself to her own demise. Charlie would actually act like a father and not an acquaintance. He would tell me to pursue my dreams and never take anything for granted. I believe that God is always testing the human race. I believe that God has an ego the size of the universe; always making sure that His children loved no one but Him. If I sounded like a bitter child, well, that's probably because I am. I know there are worst things in the world but I am selfish enough to care only about Charlie and myself. And that's what I meant when I said I am a realist. But I'm not evil. I don't go out and purposely hurt people. I, unknowingly, obey what God wants according to the Bible. I may not be a practicing believer but I still know the difference between good and evil. All these knowledge came from being raised by nuns and a little bit from human decency. I still know all the prayers and some hymns still lingered in the niches of my brain but I really can't admit to have the belief.

Sometimes, I could almost believe in my own convictions.

I picked up a stem of grass and chewed it reflectively, watching him. The sun poured down on him in golden splendor. The hot scent of the grass rose up in waves to my nostrils. A bee fumbled irritably among the dandelions; flitting from one to the next. Jake stalked it and I whistled under my breath, calling him to crouch beside me.

I lay down beside the man, using Jake's belly as a pillow. I closed my eyes, the languor of the unseasonably warm fall afternoon seeped through my senses and let the warmth enveloped me.

"Are you asleep?" asked the masculine voice with which I was already oddly familiar.

I opened my eyes and smiled directly at him.

"Just enjoying the day," I said frankly. "Are you feeling up to walking to the house yet?"

"Where is it?" he asked.

I pointed behind to his right to a belt of firs that partially hid our house. "Behind those trees. Can you manage the walk?"

"Yes," he agreed, standing up carefully. I moved close to him, my arm going around his waist, using my own body as a crutch for him.

"Lean on me," I offered for the second time.

He laughed; the sound vibrated right through my sides where our bodies were in contact.

"I could snap you in half with a finger and thumb," he said in amusement.

I grinned up at him, my head on even keel with his chin. "Try it," I said. "Jake would have you for breakfast."

He smiled crookedly. "Vicious, is he?" He looked at the brown lab who grinned amicably back at him. "Is he your bodyguard?"

"I've never needed one," I said. "But if necessary, he would be delighted…he likes biting people, especially ones that hurt me."

The stranger began to laugh. "You're an odd couple," he said. "Come on, take me to your father. I'm scared to think what he's like."

I guided him across the meadow, taking my time to ease the walk for him. "You're sure you're not hurt anywhere? No broken bones?"

"Just bruises," he said, wincing. "And a general reluctance to move a muscle."

We reached the trees and moved through the white picket fence. The old cottage stood facing us, the roof and the stonewalls were lined with green lichen. It stood stubbornly against the onslaught of high winds, weather and time. The cottage was built of stone, thick beams and paned glass windows with black shutters. It was a cottage much like in fairy tales. It had three bedrooms, a bathroom and an addition to the back of it for Charlie's studio. The studio was bigger than the house itself.

There was no sign of life around it. A few crows sat in the elm tree at the end of the garden, watching us approach, flapping away at the last moment, screeching at Jake who ran raucously and chased them.

"I'm afraid Charlie is sequestered," I said apologetically. "He can't be disturbed while he's painting."

The handsome stranger looked down at me, frowning. "Are you two alone here?"

"Yes," I said, opening the front door and leading him into the house. "Come into the living room and lie down. I'll clean your cuts and find some antiseptic while the kettle is boiling. A cup of tea should make you feel better."

"A Scotch would be preferable," he said.

I smiled. "We don't keep liquor or any spirits in the house…you shouldn't drink them, anyway."

He sat on the long dark brown couch, looking at me drily. "You're too young to be drinking, but what about your father?"

"Well, he doesn't drink." I wanted to add that alcohol killed my mother but I don't really know this person sitting on our couch. I simply walked away, his eyes burrowing a hole on my back.

"You left your shoes out in the meadow," he said, staring down on my dainty feet, reminding me of the sores from stepping on the pebbles. It stung and I wouldn't be surprised if I was tracking blood all over the floor.

"I wasn't wearing any," I said calmly before disappearing in the kitchen.

I turned the faucet on while I search for a washbowl.

I came back to the living room with an awful orange salad bowl with hot water and some clean washcloths. I knelt down beside the couch and asked him to bend down.

Obediently he bent his head down and I gently cleaned his cuts with warm water, drying them very carefully. I took his big strong hands in my own and washed them too. I don't know why. His hands didn't get dirty from the accident. I washed it, fascinated at how easily it could hide mine. He watched me intently without expression; his eyes hidden beneath his long lashes.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Isabella Swan," I said without looking up.

"Swan! and your father is an artist? You're Charlie Swan's daughter?" he exclaimed.

"Yeah. I told you that earlier," I said haughtily.

"I know his work," he said. "Brilliant but disturbing. A grief on canvas."

I looked up at him unsmiling, "Yes," I agreed.

He watched me again as I continued to wash his hands. "Has he ever painted you?"

I laughed bitterly. "No. I don't inspire him." And then we were quiet. The only sound you can hear was the water lapping at the bowl. His breaths and mine; Jake panting furiously.

I could feel his stare, intense and deep.

"He must be blind," he said after what seems like forever.


	2. Chapter 2  Give Me Novocaine

"**Drain the pressure from the swelling,**

**the sensations overwhelming.**

**Give me a long kiss goodnight,**

**And everthing will be alright. **

**Tell me I won't feel a thing,**

**So give me Novocaine."**

**- GIVE ME NOVOCAINE, Green Day**

**CHAPTER 2 – GIVE ME NOVOCAINE**

I looked up, startled and met his green eyes in astonishment. But instead of staring back, he looked away and took in the tidy, tiny living room. He looked everywhere except my face.

There was nothing fascinating about our minimal furnishing. A brown leather sofa, authenticated by the weathered hide took up most of sparse space. There were shelves that lined the wall filled with books—art books, history books—no fiction of any kind. Charlie hated stories. I'm not sure why. He believed in the practicality of life and stories created by imaginative people irked him. I have my own collection of books up in my room mostly classic, gothic stories.

His shelves were crowded with odd objects as well, arranged in careful rows. There were stones of different colors, rusty cans of soup, a dirty head of a broken porcelain doll and a miscellany of ugly things. There's a scary looking flower that looked like it ate some small animal before it died. Its petals were huge, curled onto itself; brown, wilted and moldy.

"Who is the collector?" he asked me.

"Charlie," I responded. "He likes to feel things in his hands while he's thinking."

"Don't we all?" he murmured, watching me again. His stares are disconcerting, as if he was trying to look into my soul. I looked away because it was what I was scared of. I don't want him to see the emptiness inside me.

I found a tube of antiseptic cream in one of the kitchen drawers and delicately smoothed it onto his skin. He put out a long finger and touched my cheek. His touch, much like his stares shook me inside. The electricity that flashed between us almost made me drop the cream. I looked up, my eyes wide and questioning.

"Did I hurt you?" I asked breathlessly, avoiding the awkward feeling between us.

He stared into my eyes, annoyed all of a sudden. His eyes narrowed into slits. "No." He said, rather forcefully.

"How am I supposed to get to that garage? You said you didn't have a car? How about cabs?"

"We don't have a car. We never go anywhere—as for cabs, well, I've no idea."

"What do you mean you never go anywhere?" he asked incredulously.

"Just that. We never go anywhere. My father only steps out of the house to get some fresh air; walk around the meadow…other than that, his paintings get picked up here if he has a show. Our groceries gets delivered regularly and we don't need much of anything."

Horror crossed his face. "That is no fucking way for a child to live!"

"Please don't cuss…" I asked him nervously. His expression quickly softened.

"I'm sorry…it's just there's a whole world out there and you're living here pretty much in a bubble created by your father. Don't you want more out of life than just being at your father's beck and call? Your intelligence is wasted here," he looked at me sincerely as if I could just provide him an answer with the snap of my fingers.

I ignored his opinions and continued on. "I think you're all cleaned up. I can call Sam for you and he can bring you to town," I said as I picked up another washcloth to dry his hands.

"Sam has a car, I take it?"

"Of course," I laughed. "They have several. Sam loves engines. He does all car work for everyone in this town."

"Ah, the car shop guy?" he asked.

"Yup," I looked up at him timidly. "I must clean the cuts on your face now." I sat on the couch beside him, my heart speeding faster. I've never been this close to any man in my entire life, especially not someone like him.

I leaned over and lightly smoothed the cream softly into his cuts and bruises. I'd hoped that it would feel like brushes of downy feathers instead of the sting of a thousand bees. He closed his eyes and leaned back, surprising me by holding on to my waist. Again, the feeling of light-headedness washed over me with the mere touch of his hand.

I can only pray that he would not sense my body's reactions. The pulse by the base of my throat was going a hundred miles a minute. Too fast, that I can't bring myself to swallow the indescribable exhilaration I felt.

"There," I murmured, "Feel better?"

He opened his eyes and looked up at me, as if he was momentarily in a trance. And for the life of me, I can't quite figure out what it was. He was staring at me with the same reverence of a devout.

"Yes," he said.

"Do you want to call someone?...your wife, perhaps? The phone is in the kitchen." I offered.

"No," he snapped. Though his face was expressionless. "I have no wife to worry about me. But I need to call the auto shop and maybe get a hotel room for the next few days."

"You're more than welcome to stay here," I said easily. I knew Charlie wouldn't mind. In fact, he might welcome the distraction. If this man was familiar with his work then at least he could have someone to talk to other than an awkward teenager.

I stood up from the couch and started gathering the cleaning supplies I used. "We have plenty of room, as you can see. There is a spare bedroom and if Charlie is working, then we won't see him often. Just a warning though, we're both vegetarians so we live on salads, fruits and grain. No steaks or meat of any kind."

He lay back and followed me with his disturbingly thoughtful green eyes.

"Your father may not want a stranger hanging around the place, you know."

"Charlie won't mind," I said.

"How can you be sure?"

"Well, you're a man."

He raised those sardonic brows. "What does my sex have anything to do with it?"

"Charlie hates women," I said indifferently. "He won't have one on the place."

Maybe _hate _was a strong word. Wary? Aloof? All I know is that he stays away from women—actually, he stays away from people, period.

"What are you then?" he asked drily.

"I'm not a woman—yet so he puts up with me."

The hooded lids came over his strange eyes.

"I shudder to think what kind of reactions you would get from the men of this town when you actually turn into a woman."

There was something sensual and teasing about his tone that brought another bout of shyness and pinking on my cheeks. I stared down on my bare feet and before walking back to the kitchen, cutting off the strange energy that connected us.

There was an indescribable pull between us; the kind that can get confusing very fast for someone like me. I've never been kissed by a boy. I know nothing about the attractions between the opposite sexes. I graduated from high school too young and none of the boys in Forks High would really like to date a nerd like me. Half the time, the girls turned up their noses at me and the boys avoided me like the plague. Perhaps no one would like to be seen with the strange girl who lives with her even stranger father but I never cared about it at the time. All in all, I was glad for the solitude. My father and I are like that, I guess. We like living in our own little world. The stranger was right. I lived in a bubble my father had created.

And for once in my natural born life, I actually hated it.

I moved around the kitchen quietly and started thinking about the stranger. He puzzled me. The hard edge was unmistakable in his beautiful face; dismissive and abrasive, a man accustomed to getting his own way. There was an underlying dry humor that compensated his rough attitude and charm that just about killed the indifferent manner. I'm not sure how deep his handsomeness goes beneath the surface. All I can see and focus on was his eyes. There was so much turmoil and sadness in them.

He could be one of Charlie's subjects. There was a loneliness that was obvious when he was caught unawares; when he was staring out at a distance or even when he was just staring at me. I can read people, much like how Charlie can pick out the next object for his art. Even with the isolation, my interest in human nature and facial expressions hadn't wane.

When Charlie doesn't resent me for whatever reasons there may be, he would sometimes talk to me. His voice would be reflective and decisive, bitter and contemptuous. He could be talking about something as inconsequential as raindrops and you would be able to read the resentment.

Surprisingly, my father's dislike of the human race hadn't really affected me; nor did I accept his beliefs or lived by them. Charlie will always be Charlie and no one can ever change that. His love for my mother, her death, had cut him deep and changed the way he viewed life quite instantly. I think I've accepted that.

But even with his bitterness, I can somehow sense that Charlie would take one of his rare likings for our unexpected visitor.

I picked up the tea tray and heard Charlie's voice in the living room. I entered cautiously and looked at him warily. I was relieved to see no anger in his serious face.

"After Bella has poured us some tea she can call Sam for you and have your car towed," he said, turning towards me.

Charlie was in his fifties, a slightly built, grey-haired man with an austere, fine handsome face. The hardness in his eyes, the crows' feet, and the graying moustache that twitched in rare amusement, all made up what's left of my father. Because really, most of him died along with my mother. His eyes were the color of dark onyx, sharp and always questioning. They saw with incredible clarity on occasions; at other times they were blind. The artist's vision was open only when he deemed it necessary; or when the subject was too depressing to ignore. But in his eyes, the sadness or ugliness was beauty.

When he began to paint, he had been ignored for years. Only recently, had his work began to have a certain cult following. His wild lonely landscapes were peopled with dark human figures whose pain echoed the storm of the skies, colored darkly to make it look ugly, but became unintentionally beautiful nonetheless. Charlie was indifferent to the money he made for his art. He painted because he wished to paint and didn't care much for other people's opinions.

I poured them both tea, offered the stranger a plate of home made bread and soya-based butter. I turned to go when I heard my father say,

"What's your name?" Charlie asked the stranger politely.

"Edward," he said. "Edward Masen."

I turned my head to find him watching me again.

"That sounds like a local name," I piped in, thinking of the abandoned Masen house about ten miles south of us.

"It is—was," he agreed. "I was born ten miles away. In fact, that's where I was aiming for today. I'm on holiday up here and I wanted to see how much remained of what I remembered from childhood."

"How old were you when you left?" asked Charlie while in the midst of sipping his tea.

"I was ten when my family left."

"In childhood, we see from a different angle. Simple, happy and things looked bigger and brighter to us. If you're looking for a quick fix best be not looking in search of your childhood, Mr. Masen." Charlie, with his inquisitive eyes saw through everyone.

"Edward," the stranger said in a steady voice. "And you're probably right." He matched my father's hard look, unwilling to be beaten in a stand off.

I scurried away quietly and left them in their silent battle.

I called Sam and told him about Edward's car, who, in turn told me he would send for it to be towed. We talked for a mere minute.

I walked out then and whistled to Jake. He followed me eagerly right around the back of the cottage where there was a small grassy hill that will lead us to the small hidden waterfall. I used it as my playground and as a hiding place of some sort.

Sometimes, when Charlie gets into his moods and I couldn't take the hateful look on his face, I'd spend hours there, feeling sorry for my worthless, unwanted existence. Those times, I think that I would've probably been better off with the nuns. I would've probably been brought up into the world by their gentleness and spiritual guidance, instead of this numbness and emptiness that I feel around my own father.

Sometimes, I wish that they left me there. Then I wouldn't have known this heartache.

I barely knew my mother. I still remember what she looked like though. She had hazel eyes and light auburn hair. Kind of like mine. People used to think that I was really theirs; that I wasn't just an abandoned baby found on the stoop of the convent. Sometimes I would wonder too because our likeness was uncanny. But I remember the nuns, women dressed in brown habits. The solitude and peace. It was an environment that was so unreal for a child like me. I don't know why they kept me. I don't know why they didn't give me up when I was an infant. I don't know why a group of nuns would keep and raise a baby. I often wondered if I'd become a nun had I stayed.

I got to my destination in no time. Once again floored by the beauty of this secluded place. I lay down on one of my favorite rock formation. It was a flat bedrock the size of a twin bed. I closed my eyes and listened to the songs of nature. The gentle rustle of the surrounding trees and the crash of the water falling in an eager rush to the small pool of water at the base of the falls. Birds sang softly, calling out to each other in a lazy symphony. All the reasons why I loved this life came back in rush. This is me, simplicity ruled my life and I'm in need of nothing else. My father may be distant, but at least I have the freedom that I loved. I may not be exposed to society or even the hectic bustle of the world, but without those interactions, I was better off. I've not known heartaches other than that of a deceased mother and a virtually non-existent father. But Charlie at least made sure that I was protected from violence. And broken hearts caused by other boys.

I smiled softly, comforted by my own thoughts.

I fell asleep to the sound of my _bubbled_ world.

**~oo00oo~**

I got back to the cottage almost an hour later, and found both Charlie and Edward playing a game of chess. They both looked up as I barged through the door. My father looked at me with an utter disdain on his face.

"Where have you been?" I flushed as soon as I hear the irritation in his voice. He glared at my disheveled appearance. I knew my hair had grown wild. The mists from the waterfall aided to the frizz that probably teased my hair to the size of Texas. My white shirt was dirty from lying down on the grass and on the bedrock. To finish my horrid ensemble was the blood stained by Edward's injuries. My feet were dirty and I smelled like a week's worth of unwashed laundry. All in all, the missing link had nothing on me.

"I was out back. I'll get dinner started right away." I said quietly and avoided looking at Edward. Thankfully, I was saved by the shrill of the phone. Charlie jumped and answered with a scowl.

"Yes?" he said.

I hunted some vegetables from the fridge and decided soup and some crusty bread would suffice for dinner. I tried not to pay attention to Charlie's conversation, which wasn't much of a conversation to begin with.

"Edward, what's the make of your car again?" he hollered out from the kitchen.

"It's a _Lamborghini Espada_." He said casually.

Charlie whistled under his breath and repeated it to Sam.

I started peeling onions, garlic and potatoes. Chopping each vegetable with care. I got carrots, celery and some fresh herbs along with a jar of vegetable soup broth out of the fridge.

"Yeah…uh huh…that's what I figured…okay…uh huh…I'll let him know."

Charlie finished his phone call and walked out of the kitchen again.

"Well, you're out of luck, city guy. They're towing your car in a bit but he told me to let you know that parts for your car may take a while to come. Italian import and a vintage to boot, it looks like you're stuck here for a while." Charlie informed him.

Sudden flitter excitements surged inside me and chock it to having another soul to talk to instead of Jake and the walls of the cottage.

I unhooked the pot from the wall and turned the stove on. The soup was simple to make and takes only minutes to cook. So I stayed in the kitchen and waited rather than opting to freshen up before dinner. I took out the crusty bread from the breadbox and sliced it in thick, even cut, placing them on a serving plate that I then covered so the bread wouldn't get hard. After all my mundane tasks were done right down to setting the table, I waited for the soup to boil and then called them in for dinner.

They were in the middle of a conversation when I walked back in the living room.

"I hope this shop can do something for my car."

Charlie laughed. "Are you kidding me? They wouldn't know where to start. They probably haven't heard of such a model. When was the last time they made those?"

Edward frowned. "Then they must take it to Seattle." He bent his dark head and his hand shifted a chess piece. "Your move," he said.

"Dinner's ready, Dad."

Charlie ignored me and looked down, absorbed in the game once more. He looked at the board and saw with a shock that Edward was in a winning position.

He rubbed his chin, contemplating.

I stood on the way side, looking like an expectant servant waiting for orders. I shifted on the balls of my feet and threw a glance at Edward.

My face colored. He was staring at me again, his face sad and somewhat sympathetic. I wanted to cry but swallowed the lump that quickly formed in my throat. I was used to being ignored by Charlie, I wasn't used to having an audience while he does it.

"Did you need help in the kitchen?" Edward asked emphatically.

"Uhm…not really. The table's ready." I replied with a croak in my voice.

Edward turned to look at Charlie and saw that his eyes slightly dimmed. He looked—almost furious. This puzzle of a man became even more intricately difficult to solve. But then again, I could never understand the workings of a man's mind. Being with Charlie didn't really guarantee that kind of education.

Charlie was a brilliant chess player. I had never seen him beaten. There was a first time for everything as I looked at the board again.

"Don't you ever wear shoes?" Edward asked as if he was irritated.

I looked down and wiggled my toes. "Sometimes." I said casually.

Charlie moved a piece and Edward glanced at the board, then moved another, his face expressionless. Dad flickered a long glance at him. "What are you? A Grand Master?" he asked drily.

"An amateur," said Edward, his mouth faintly turning up at one corner.

Charlie stood up. "I'm outclassed," he said. Apparently he didn't care either way. "What's for dinner, Bella?"

I cleared my throat and spoke evenly. "Vegetable soup and crusty bread."

"I hope you didn't make it too salty this time. I don't know how many times I have to tell you I don't like salt."

"No, Dad. I didn't put any salt this time." I said as I followed him in the kitchen.

"Well, child, if you didn't put salt in the soup how the hell was I supposed to taste it?" I blinked fast. Holding on to my last vestige of sanity. _Please don't do this today, Charlie_.

I kept my head down and didn't pay attention to where I was going, desperate for escape.

So of course, I didn't see the coffee table in my way. I stubbed my toe and cursed under my breath.

I can feel it coming.

The tears were not from being hurt physically but from my father's blatant disregard for my pride. I was about to run to my room when I felt Edward's hand on my slumping shoulders.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly. His eyes were wide on my face, cautious and pensive. Was he waiting for me to cry?

"I'm fine." I murmured and shook his hand off, limping myself to the kitchen.

Charlie sat on the table, his bowl empty. He sighed impatiently, "Well? Bella? That soup is not going to serve itself. Hurry up, girl."

I ladled some soup in his bowl and buttered his bread. Much like he was towards his art, he was particular about everything. He hated waiting for his food. I kept the house in order for him; his clothes washed and pressed.

I was about to serve some soup for Edward when he stopped me. "I can manage thanks," he said before taking the ladle from me.

Edward continued to talk about my father's art, while I sat there quietly sipping my soup. It was difficult. The food tasted like soaked cardboard; the bread, sawdust in my mouth. I had to drink my water just to swallow what felt like rough-edged stones down my throat.

I don't know what it was, but right there and then, how I wish I knew how to drive. Run—run away from this place. Run away from Charlie and most of all hide from those green eyes that saw too much.


	3. Chapter 3 Comfortably Numb

"**When I was a child I had a fever**

**My hands felt like two balloons. **

**Now I've got that feeling once again.**

**I can't explain, you would not understand**

**This is not how I am.**

**I have become comfortably numb."**

**COMFORTABLY NUMB by Pink Floyd**

**CHAPTER 3 – COMFORTABLY NUMB**

Charlie stood up as soon as he slurped his soup right to the last drop.

"Make yourself at home, Edward. Don't expect to be entertained, though. I work most of the time," he threw me a quick look, as if offended by my presence. "Bella here will make sure you don't starve. You must stay for as long as you like, but keep out of my studio. I don't allow visitors." With his last orders, he left and stalked towards his domain.

I stood up and started gathering the dishes.

Edward did the same.

"Don't you think you should rest for a while?" I asked.

"I'm tougher than I look," he told me with a smirk.

"Is that even possible?" I countered while I busy myself with the dishes.

He laughed softly. "That's the first joke I've heard you make."

I turned, smiling shakily. "It wasn't a joke. You look tough—the kind of man who builds empires and gives orders. It's something to do with your bone structure."

He ran a hand over his face. "That didn't make any sense to me but regardless; I've never had complaints before."

"Who's complaining?" I asked, stacking the bowls and bringing them over to the sink. "I was just making an observation."

Edward picked up the breadboard, the cutleries and glasses.

"Isabella…?" he said hesitantly.

I turned to him and readily saw the wary pity. I knew what he was going to say.

"Don't…" I said, my eyes pleading. "Don't bring it up. Don't ask questions and most of all, don't you dare look at me with sympathy. Charlie is my father, I owed him everything. The way he treats me—it's just the way it is. I've learned to accept it. At least he's not physically hurting me or throwing me out of the house. So what if he's a little hard and distant? It could be worse."

My fingers shook and my face was on fire. I plunged my hand under the soapy water and gasped audibly as the knife sliced through my thumb.

I stuck it under the running water, the sting bringing unwanted tears in my eyes.

I didn't mind it when Charlie barely spoke a word to me.

I didn't mind it that when he did, it was always laden with annoyance.

I didn't mind it that he could care less either way whether or not I have a future or planned for one.

I didn't mind it that he looked at me with so much contempt and his quiet anger screamed that he blamed me for losing his wife.

I didn't mind all of those because I have accepted my life, my fate. Where else was I supposed to go? I'm seventeen—penniless, young and ignorant.

What I do mind, however, was the way he could carelessly hurt my feelings in front of Edward, or anyone for that matter. I sniffed quietly, wallowing in self-pity.

I continued to wash the dishes even if my thumb throbbed and stung. The tears silently fell down on my face gave the world a muddy view—like looking through a dirty glass. He remained quiet but I could feel his eyes on me; always watching me.

I decided I've had enough of being exposed to him. I finished the dishes, dried them and stacked them back in the cupboards. All the while, I ignored him. But I can feel him. Everywhere.

"Do you have some pain killers, or something?" he asked quietly after awhile.

Discreetly, I wiped all evidence of tears from my face and left the room without saying a word. I head in the direction of the single bathroom in the whole house. Our basic collection of medicine was kept there, no prescription drugs in this house.

I came back as quickly as I'd left with a couple of aspirins and got him a glass of water.

"Here. I'm afraid we have nothing stronger. I hope this helps." He took the pills from me and quickly popped them in his mouth, followed by gulps of water. "We really should take you to the hospital, you know?" The cuts on his face were nothing compared to the possible internal injuries he may have suffered.

"Nah. I'm fine." He said, brushing me off.

"I'll go get you suitcase in your car before they take it…I'll be right back." I left before he could unravel more pieces of me.

The cool air greeted me as I walked out; a relief from the fire that smoldered inside me. Crickets chirped among the other sounds of early dusk. The western part of the sky exploded into pink and orange hues, while half the sky, the darker part glittered with twinkling stars. I walked towards the still steaming car to find Sam and his helper working on getting the car hitched and eventually towed.

"Hey, Sam," I waved to him with a smile, almost happy to see another person.

"Hey, Bella," he waved back. Sam, a bulky tall man, had the roughened look of a mechanic. I'd never seen him without a smudge of grease on his cheek; dirt under his fingernails and his perpetual dirty coverall. His smile was breathtaking though, the even white teeth were a stark contrast against his dark, bronze skin. Sam is a Quillette who ran the only auto shop in downtown Forks. He's probably about six years older than me but he looks pretty young. I'd only known him because once upon a time Charlie used to own a car. It was on old station wagon that finally broke down and he chose not to replace.

"This is some car." He observed with pure admiration on his face.

"Do you think you can fix it?" I asked him as I made my way towards the trunk of the car to fetch Edward's suitcase.

"Well, I think the damages are body related, hopefully I won't have to order parts for it."

"I need to get his suitcase from back there…can you open it for me?"

He walked around the driver's side and leaned in to pop the trunk door open.

The trunk contained a brown leather duffel bag, which I quickly grabbed and closed the trunk door shut. The car was on an incline, half of its body (the damaged part), was propped up and chained on the back of Sam's tow truck.

"Do you need help?" he asked.

"No. I'm okay, Sam, thank you." The bag was not at all that heavy. I lugged it on my right shoulder and stepped around Sam, who came to my side noiselessly.

"So, are you going to the festival on Saturday?" he asked nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

The town of Forks held festivals before the last weekend of September to sort of welcome the harvest season for the former lumbering town. Charlie and I have never gone so this year will probably be no different.

"I'll have to ask my Dad," I answered simply before turning away, at least I was about to when he stopped me.

"Bella," he started. "Can I ask you something?" He motioned his helper to get in the truck indiscreetly. Although the flick of his hand was quite obvious, he made it seem like he was shooing a bug from his face.

I turned to face and waited—his face was…hopeful.

"What is it, Sam?" I started to worry. I've lived my teenager life without having to deal with boys and dating. But Sam is not exactly a boy—he's a man. And if the question he wanted to ask me is about dating, I might have to run away screaming. Well, not really to that extreme. It would be sad to turn him down. My interactions with the human species in this town was very limited to Charlie, the grocery delivery guy, the mail man and the very odd times—Sam. To lose that would only add more to the isolation I sometimes feel.

"I was wondering if—" he stared down on the ground. It was funny to see a twenty some odd man blushing in front of a seventeen year old girl. "I was wondering if you'd like to see a movie some time." He finally put his sentence together; his bronze face, darkened by the sudden ruddiness of his cheeks.

I gnawed at my lips, thinking of ways to let him down without hurting his feelings.

"My father doesn't allow me to date till I'm at least twenty years old," I gazed over behind him where I could see the quickly darkening meadow. "He's got this rule thing…" I continued, apologetic for the lie as I returned my focus on his face. I wanted him to know that I wasn't exactly lying. I mean, sure Charlie wouldn't care if I dated or not but I think he would care if I left the house…I think. Charlie and I have that kind of relationship where conversation were far and few and life went on in a circle of guessing games. We walk on eggshells around each other, barely speaking and casually assuming what the other's likes and dislikes. It would be easier to talk, but at the same time difficult. I decided a long time ago that I would rather not aggravate him by way of talking. And it's so easy to do sometimes. Some days, all I have to do is wake up in the morning and you can almost feel the palpable anger rolling in waves through him. And almost without fail, the anger was directed to me.

Maybe it's the artist in him. He was moody, angst-ridden and determined to hate the world as he was for the world to hate him.

"I understand," he smiled his perfect smile as he tried to hide the regretful loss. He started to walk back around the driver's side of the tow truck. "Well, I still hope to see you at the festival, Bella." He said before climbing the truck.

I stood on the wayside of the gravel road and watched as the truck eased away and drove off with Edward's car hitched at the back.

Jake trotted to my side and tilted his head, as if he was asking me what the holdup was.

We got back to a silent house. I opened the door softly and found a softly snoring Edward, sprawled on the couch with his arms crossed on his chest. His eyes fluttered open, awakened by the clickety-clack of Jake's claws on the hardwood floor behind me.

He slowly rose into a sitting position and gave me a lazy grin that reminded me of sunrise in the meadow; when the light first hits all the flowers and turns it into a canvas of exploding colors. Poetic. Beautiful. I groaned. I'm lame.

"I've got your bag…I wasn't sure if you had a cell phone on you…" my voice trailed away. His eyes never left my face. "If you want to freshen up, the bathroom is just down the hall, second door to your right."

"Thanks," he mumbled and leisurely stood up. He ambled his way toward me, unhurried with calculated steps, all the while never taking his eyes off me. His handsome features were shadowed by the darkness that was slowly plunging the living room and the house. My heart was beating so fast, I swear he could probably hear it.

When he finally stood in front of me, my senses fired awake. His smell was disturbingly nice and slightly addictive. We were close enough that the static electricity coming off him reached me in audible sparks.

"Thank you," he murmured. His breath fanned across my cheeks in soft puffs of his fragrant breath. His hand moved down my arm where I was hanging on to his duffel bag. Slowly, inching down in agonizing descent as if he was trying to memorize every single pore of my skin. My head was buzzing like I've swallowed a thousand live flies. My errant thoughts were getting the best of me and my body helpless against the reaction of his nearness.

"Why aren't you married?" I blurted out. As if he was showered by a torrent of icy water, his eyes changed color from the warmth of the Caribbean, to the frigid arctic sea. He quickly snagged the duffel bag from my hand and backed away. He went very quiet; his smile disappeared from his face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so inquisitive. It's not often that I have someone to talk to—I guess I got carried away."

"How the hell do you stand it here?" he asked, suddenly tense. "It's not right for a child your age. It may be okay with your father, but he has no right to isolate you like this."

"It's not so bad," I shrugged. "I'm hoping that Charlie will let me go to school in September. I'll be eighteen then…who knows, maybe I can actually stand up to him and tell him what I want."

His green eyes searched my face. "Unreal existence. This is the twenty first century and you're missing it."

"I'm not missing anything," I said defensively. "Time is relative. In some parts of the world it's two centuries ago and the people there don't mind a bit."

He folded his arms and surveyed me with that deep serious look. "Amish people, you mean?"

I smiled, my lips quivered lightly because I have yet to recover from the havoc of feelings brought on by the light touches of his hand. "Do you think their lives are not fulfilled just because they chose the way they live?"

"But even Amish people gets to see the world, you on the other hand is stuck here with a man who can't decide whether you're the maid or his daughter." There was a mixture of anger and disbelief in the way he spoke.

"Did you ever think that I'd prefer to live this way? That I am my father's daughter and like the isolation? I lived out there, Edward and there really is nothing great about it. We're all product of our heredity and environment, you know. Even you."

"Bella, you were a child when you lived out there. What do you know about it?"

Our eyes met briefly as he challenged me. "Why are you hung-up on the Amish people?"

He shook his head and smiled, as if he'd already forgotten our argument.

"How old do you think I am, Isabella?"

"Forty." I said calmly.

His eyes narrowed and an odd look came into his face.

"I'm twenty-seven," he said, tight lipped.

I chuckled. "I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings?"

"You said that to provoke me, didn't you?"

I answered with a smile.

He sat down on the couch again, his eyes, still trained on me.

"You must be tired. I'm going to use the bathroom for a few minutes and help you get settled in."

"Do you love him?" he asked suddenly.

"Of course," I said, surprised by his question. "He's my father."

"That's reason enough?" His mouth twisted scathingly which gave his face an unapproachable look.

"Why would there be any other reason?" I looked away and then continued, "I'm very lucky to have a father like Charlie. He makes sure I have everything I need." The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

The silence between us stretched on. But I can almost hear the gears in his head grinding…thinking…composing.

"Does he love you?" I jerked up and saw the regret in his eyes. But he couldn't take the question back. Damn him for asking the very thing I dare not to ask in all my life. My eyes burned with tears—tears I held back. I will not succumb to this again. The cost for showing vulnerability to this stranger was just too much; which was why my answer to his question shook me so much.

"I don't think so," I said upon trembling lips. Finally, some semblance of honesty I'm determined to swallow. "He can't forgive me."

"What the fuck for?" he asked, incensed.

It took me an eternity to answer. I've asked the same question myself but not to my father. I could never be that brave. Mostly, in the dead of the night, in the shadows of the moon, the twinkling stars and quiet howls of the wind.

"I think he couldn't forgive me for being alive while my mother is dead. My presence hurts him terribly, that everyday he's reminded of what he's lost. The thing is, I look too much like her."

He stared at me, his mouth grim. "But how? I thought you said you were adopted?"

"Fate is kind of funny like that. I look like her and every time he sees me, he can't forget it. He tries not to look at me. He tries to be good to me. But he can never forget she's dead and I'm alive."

"I see," he said. "Did he tell you this?"

I choked on a pained laugh. "Oh heaven's no! I worked it out for myself. It's kind of hard not to figure it out when most of the time, it seems like we're the only two people left in the world. So much solitude, so much silence…what else is there to do but think?"

His lips curled at its ends, bemused. "We have that in common, I guess."

"What's that?"

"Loneliness."

He turned his back and walked towards the hallway bathroom.

Alone again, I fled to the kitchen to finish cleaning. I wiped the table down and dissected every bit of our conversation. Edward was still a stranger to me. I, on the other hand, he probably knew too much about. One day was all it took for this man to discover our lives built on lies and doubts.

After a quick scan of the kitchen, making sure that everything was back in their place, I left to hide in my bedroom. He was back in the living room sprawled on the couch.

His eyes were closed, his right hand thrown on his forehead casually like he's done it a million times in the comfort of the beaten leather couch.

"This guy, Sam? Do you really think he can fix my car?" He asked without opening his eyes.

"Sam is very capable. I'm sure you'd like him and his work." My face softened into a smile, thinking about what he'd asked me this afternoon. I still couldn't believe I'd lie and hid behind a father's non-existent protective side.

"How old is he?" what an odd question.

"Twenty-two or three, I think."

"Not married," he guessed.

"No," I answered, still puzzled with his line of questioning.

"Is he your boy friend?" I flushed under his scrutiny. I laughed.

"Stars, no! I've never had one—Charlie would be furious."

"Why should he be?" He opened his eyes, lifted his arm off his forehead. His green eyes met mine unblinkingly.

"Well, having a boyfriend is just another sign that I've grown up."

"So?" he asked, confused.

"Don't you get it? In his eyes, I'd look more like Renee." I argued.

"Isabella, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." He shook his head. "Just because he refused to acknowledge that you're growing up does not mean he can stop it from happening." He sat up from his prone position indignantly, apparently not done. "And he's your father, for God's sake!"

I shrugged my shoulders dismissively. After all, what else could I say? I've had the same debate inside my head for years, asked the same questions but did I ever get anywhere?

"Your father is a selfish bastard," he muttered. He was really angry. The tips of his ears were tinged in pink, smoke could be bellowing out of his nose for all I know.

"My father is a genius," I said calmly. "I will not force him to change just because I am not living the way a girl my age should be. He's an old man, and I, or anyone for that matter does not have the right to dictate how he should conduct his relations with his daughter—least of all you."

He leaned back on the couch, tranquil again. But the storm in his eyes hasn't passed. _Why do you look at me like that? _I wanted to ask. The reverence was replaced by a heated gaze, singeing me from the very spot I was standing on. My young heart started its dance again, pounding to a rhythm unknown.

I thought of the way Sam looked at me and I flushed under my skin. Not because they were similar but because they were the opposite. Sam was temperate, like the gentle glow of a candle. Edward looks at me with the explosiveness of a thousand suns—and he wasn't even trying to mask it.

"Let me ask you something," he started. "If life was different for you, if your mother was still alive, where do you think you'll be?"

_Definitely not here. _

"Seattle, maybe?" I thought of following in my father's footsteps. Not as a painter because I'd none of his talents. I know I wouldn't want to be anywhere near Art. If it got out that I was Charlie's daughter, people would expect too much, and I would hate to feel I was using his name. I'd rather get stuck filing in a dungeon somewhere than do that.

"Yes, but doing what?" he prodded.

I shrugged. At seventeen years old, the only thing I'd thought about was what Charlie needed. How to be a perfect daughter. Was there a career for such a thing?

Tired of the 'Edward inquisition', I smiled at him and sauntered towards the bedrooms. "Come and choose a room?"

He followed me down the hallway with Jake on our heels. Weaving himself between us like he couldn't decide which of us he liked more. He decided, with much enthusiasm that he preferred me so he sneaked ahead of Edward and jumped at me. I stumbled back against Edward. My back to his chest, his arms around my shoulders. I turned my head and gave him an apologetic, impish smile.

To my surprise, his green eyes narrowed in displeasure. I staggered forward, removing myself from his lean body, aware that I'd done something to offend him.

"You're very casual with strangers, aren't you?" he said, irritated. "You haven't even asked where I've come from, what I do for a living?"

"Where did you come from? What do you do for a living?" I asked quietly in provocation.

"I escaped from jail. I killed several women. It's what I do. I find innocent young women, kill them and bury their bodies." He deadpanned.

"That's nice." I turned away and flung the first door on my right, ignoring his fib. He chuckled and glanced into the room that was simply furnished by a wooden futon covered with a tartan blanket. We don't use the room. We've never had any guests in the cottage so the room was as cold as a deep freeze.

"There's a small closet where you can hide your ax, knives—er, whatever you use to kill those girls," I walked in and open the tiny closet. "And if you're feeling better by tomorrow, maybe I can show around and we could go hunting for a good place to bury them." I said blankly.

He smiled. Full, honest-to-goodness, makes-you-weak-in-the-knees smile. The kind that was so contagious it was as pointless as resisting the giggles of a babe. You wouldn't be able to help yourself but smile back. We stood there for quite a while just grinning like wolves.

I looked out the window and saw the great expanse of greenery that matched his eyes. The weather was warm enough to let the breeze in, so I fought with the window that hadn't been opened in years. Edward came and opened it without breaking a sweat.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I commented.

He sighed and pocketed his hands. "I could be a murderer on the run for all you and your father know," he said, still harping on the complete trust that we'd bestowed upon him.

For the first time since meeting him, I let my eyes wandered over his hard, attractive face. "Not with those eyes,' I said soberly.

"Oh?"

"You could be hard, ruthless. A formidable opponent across a chessboard, conference room—but not a criminal. You're too intelligent. Your eyes betray you. You could be saying something hurtful but one look into those eyes and you could see the regrets. Like you wish you could take it back."

His mouth twisted. "You have a rosy view of the world."

_Do I? _I wondered. He could be right. I thought if I could survive Charlie, I could be armored for everything.

"You're a little too innocent," he said as if the thought bothered him. "Your father isn't doing a very good job of protecting you."

"Against what?" I asked, confused.

"Against people like me," he said coolly. "I may be a danger to you, but that never even occurred to your father. He just let me walk in here without question. I don't expect a child like you to see the dangers and I sure as hell expect a man like him to guard you."

"What dangers? Are you here to rob us? What could we possibly have that's worth taking?" I said, my voice trembling.

His eyes traveled from my face down to my toes; every stop left a char right through my bones.

"You," he said softly, watching me.

I blinked, the lightness of our banter seemed like light years away. "Me?" I croaked. "Kidnap me, you mean?"

He looked infuriated. "For fuck's sake, do I have to spell it out? Your father left me alone with you. There's not a soul within earshot. I could take you and you wouldn't stand a chance."

"Take me where?" I asked, fear lacing my tone. "You don't have a car."

He closed his eyes and then laughed bitterly. "You aren't that dumb," he said acidly. "You know exactly what I mean."

The thing about our situation was if he was trying to incite fear then he was succeeding in ten folds. But along with that fear was another feeling that I'd rather not know. Excitement? Thrill? Something in me woke up that I'd not known lived.

I evaded a direct reply, "Charlie trusts you, and likes you. That's very rare. And I trust Charlie and his judgment. You could be lying, sure. I mean, what could we know about you except what you've told us? That's the problem with the people out there. No one trusts anyone. As if everyone has their own agendas to take over the world one person at a time."

He moved away from the window, hands in his pockets. "Like I said, you view the world in rose colored glasses. One of these days, Isabella. You'll find out exactly what's out there and the very person you thought you love and trust is the very person that will betray you."

He walked out the door; his words were like the toll bells of doom in my ears. I got the feeling that this stranger knows a thing or two about betrayal.


	4. Chapter 4 In the Cold, Cold Night

**Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer.**

**A/N: I thank everyone who'd put this story in their alerts and favourites. I'm very appreciative of the reviews as well!**

"**You make me feel a little older**

**Like a full-grown woman might.**

**But when you're gone I grow colder**

**Come to me again in the cold, cold night**

**In the cold, cold night"**

**- In the Cold, Cold Night, White Stripes**

**CHAPTER 4 – In the Cold, Cold Night**

The day was just too exhausting. Between Edward's pushing and prodding, and Charlie's Siberian winter behavior, the only thing I could think about doing was run to my bedroom. Hide and sleep for days.

But as tired as I were, I spent minutes staring at my ceiling. Wishing for things I couldn't have; wishing that my circumstances were different—pretty much wishing for the impossible.

Edward had asked if my mother were still alive, would I still be here? And I used to think that if that were the case, I'd borrow Atlas' strength just to hold on to her. My family situation would've been different. Happy…probably. Complete. Charlie, in his infinite wisdom, taught me to not desire for things I don't have because it's a complete waste of time; that I should be satisfied with my status quo or else I'd never find happiness. But is it as cut and dry as that?

My eyes drifted off to sleep thinking about I used to think I was happy…until Edward plowed onto that tree.

**~ooOOoo~**

I woke up an hour later to the tune of Jake snoring beside me. My head was a still swirl of storm; doubts about my personage and uncertainties about the future. Edward's brutal questions and observations about my life or the lack thereof, wreak havoc to my otherwise contented existence. Life had always been steady for my father and me. We existed in our own worlds, secretly wanting for more. But then maybe I was just stupid enough to think that my father was happy too.

I buried my face on Jake's brown fur, seeking warmth and comfort. Good, old Jake. Always reliable.

I wondered if Edward had finally settled in the tiny guest room and if the quiet of our rural life was getting to him. I wouldn't be surprised if the poor guy upped and left us completely. Who would want to be saddled with a couple of small town weirdoes like us?

I got up and patted my hair down, which from the looks of it, had certainly taken a turn for the worse. It curled and moved like the auburn strands were alive. The shirt I wore was still grass-stained, dirt-stained and bloodstained. I looked no better than a wild child raised by a pack of wolves. No wonder Charlie looked at me with open disgust when he walked in to the kitchen.

When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I made my way to my old dresser and dug out some decent looking clothes that will not make me look like it's been years since I've seen civilization. I settled for a pair of denim cut offs and a faded black shirt.

I walked further in to the living room to find Charlie with a cup of tea and a day old newspaper spread out before him. His reading glasses were perched upon his nose, his forehead wrinkled in concentration.

I came into the room slowly and silently.

"What do you think of Edward?" as if he sensed my presence immediately, he asked without looking up.

Something in my head veered towards telling him that we should send him packing. That he made me uncomfortable in ways that my young eager heart couldn't handle. That I should tell Charlie he saw too much, knew too much, and that if I'm not careful, Edward could show me what it's like to have my heart broken.

"He told me he escaped from prison and that he kills young girls," I told him, cautiously waiting for his reaction. "I think we should call the police."

"None sense," he said in his doll-drum voice. "If we call the police, we'd be in the papers. There's nothing worst than being in the public eye for the wrong reasons."

I looked down on my hands. I've never heard Charlie crack a joke in my entire life. Edward worked his magical charms on him as well.

"It was a joke, child." He continued, his eyes crinkled slightly in amusement.

But I couldn't bring myself to laugh.

"You should check on him," he suggested. "If he's suffered a concussion, it's not advisable for him to sleep. He should've driven himself in the hospital."

It was just the kind of thing he would say. If he couldn't even pretend to care about his only daughter, then he certainly wouldn't lift a finger to help a stranger.

Edward was pretty lucky that Charlie had let him stay.

I shook my head, not at all surprised at his comment, and drifted back to the bedrooms.

I opened the door as quietly as I could and found Edward sprawled on the bed; his forearm over his eyes, his body relaxed in sleep.

I was momentarily amazed by his sheer size. He didn't belong in that small bed. But even if his legs dangled on the edge, he looked so peaceful I'd rather leave him be.

My eyes, finally, gaining freedom to feast on him, started from the tips of those unruly locks down to his feet. He was masculine everywhere. Disturbingly attractive and—I cringed as those green eyes peeked under his arms.

"Sorry…I didn't mean to wake you—actually, yes, I—I meant to wake you up. Uhm my father thought it's not a good idea to let you sleep for long." I stammered.

He removed his hand and those eyes lasered into mine.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked when I finally could control myself.

"Exceptionally well," he stretched and lifted himself off the bed. "I thought I'd dreamt you," he added. "An angel with long dark hair and eyes so searing."

Pink and embarrassed, I put a hand to the mess that was my hair. "I've wanted to get it cut for a long time but, without means of getting to town…"

"Don't you dare," he said sharply.

Surprised by his ferocity, and maddened by his dictatorship predilection, I threw him an annoyed look.

"It would make it much easier. Cooler, too. It's such chore washing all this." I snapped.

He stood up and looked down into my face, not at all bothered by my reaction. "It's like a red flame in the sunlight," he said softly. His fingers moved into the full, tangled drapery of auburn hair and let it fall through like trapped sands through his fingers. "The texture is almost …otherworldly," he muttered as he stared at it in awe. "Silky like your skin…"

I wasn't sure how to react other than let nature take its course. The redness that has been permanently infused under my skin since meeting Edward had intensified, a feat that I deemed impossible. Nobody has ever said such things to me before. I was taken aback and was not at all sure if I liked it. It made me feel self-conscious, so much so that I moved back away from him and detached his hand.

"Uhm…Charlie could probably go another round of chess with you, if you'd like."

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

I left the room, completely aware of him following me after a pause.

Charlie's face lit up as we came in the living room, genuinely pleased.

"There you are, Edward," he said as he put the newspaper down. "You're looking better already."

"I'm feeling better," he said as he sat down.

I took my own seat by the window and stared outside the dark night.

They picked up where they left off, talking about art and current events but nothing about Edward's personal life. It was as if they avoided it. But I was hungry. I wanted to know everything about him. He said he wasn't married. But does he have a family? A lover? Anyone waiting for him anxiously back home? I listened vaguely to their conversation and was amused that Edward could hold up his end when faced with a philosophical Charlie.

It was only moments later, when the living room grew quiet that I realized Charlie once again left me to my own defenses. Famous for his vanishing act and sequestering himself to his studio, he eventually ran out of steam. In all honesty, I had no clue what he did in there besides paint. Sometimes, I wont see him for days.

Edward sat still on the couch and found entertainment by way of watching me.

"Does he always leave you alone in the evenings?"

I've grown tired of his dead on assumptions and to lie was futile. "What do you think?"

He nodded; a thoughtful expression crossed his face.

"What do you do?" he put the newspapers on the table into some order; his forehead wrinkled as if the newspaper was a puzzle to be solved.

"I read on cold nights and walked on warm nights like this."

His brow lifted. "Walked? In the dark?" he asked incredulously.

I nodded.

His eyes narrowed sharply. "You're not scared of anything, aren't you?"

I shrugged. I'm scared of a lot of things. Spiders, clowns, geckos.

Not being enough for Charlie.

Charlie, dying.

Me, being completely alone in the world.

But instead, I simply answered, "It's only when it's dark enough that I can see the stars."

"You're surreal." He chuckled bitterly; his hands fisted on his hair, as if tormented by his findings. "I've never met anyone so fucking naïve!"

I was hot and cold at the same time. My face was enflamed but everything inside me slowly froze. I couldn't control the shakes that overtook my body.

He made me furious; made me see things that were not there before and crave for something nameless and mysterious; something easily at the grasp of my hand but slippery just the same.

A peep came out of my mouth, similar to that of a pained animal. I blinked, once—twice and backed off of him as his hand reached out.

"Bella—" he started. His face was a mask of pain. Unreal. Apologetic.

I fled the room, skirting around his orbit. He was like the sun, he took up the centre of my universe. How? What kind of a sick god would send him to torment me like this?

He caught me by the hallway. His hands grabbed at me. Hot. Much too hot. I trashed quietly in an attempt to free myself, thankful that the tears hadn't fallen. This man, this stranger. He shouldn't be here. Invading our lives, tearing down walls to judge us. Jeering at us for the way we live, for my ignorance of the world. What does he know? I don't want a tormentor, I want a savior!

When I finally stopped fighting, I found myself surrounded by his scent, his warmth, and his essence. His arms were like bands of steel around my shoulders and around my waist. Protecting, soothing, and suffocating. His breaths came in pants close to my ears, warm like the Chinook winds.

"I'm sorry…so sorry…" he mumbled against my hair. He twisted my body to face him and was shocked to see the honest contrition in those eyes. Minutes, hours, days may have gone by. I couldn't remember. The only thing I was aware of was how close we were, how good he felt, and how much I want to hurt him. And the most shocking of all, I wanted him to kiss me. Make me forget that when he leaves us, life will never be the same again. Maybe it was the way he looked at me, like he too, felt my hunger. I've never had anyone stared at me like he did. His face was painted in a kaleidoscope of intensity. Beautiful sorrow. Beautiful pain. Benevolence and desire.

Desire. That's what I was hungry for. It's the feeling of being wanted and I see it on his face when he looked at me; that I was wanted regardless of my faults. The strange thing was, his wanting fueled my own.

I took his hands off my arms, he didn't fight it.

His chest puffed up as he held his breath and blew it out in slow, almost painful gusts.

"Look, I'm sorry—I just…I don't know how to handle you."

"No one asked you to, Edward." He winced the second I uttered his name. As if I had no right to. "Why do you keep pushing me?" I whimpered.

He sighed. "I don't know."

I frowned, something akin to disappointment pricked at my chest.

What was I expecting? That he would say: _because someone has to, Bella. Because your life here in this bubble has no meaning; because years from now, no one would even know you existed; because you deserved so much more. _

"But you're right," he looked skyward with his eyes closed in prayers. "Listen, since I'm here why don't I accompany you to your walk?"

"I'll be fine on my own, Edward. There's nothing and no one for miles here. I'm safe." _And I'd rather not have your eyes watch me all the time. _ "I'm just going for a swim at the back anyway."

"Swim?" his eyes brightened, sparkling in a way a child's eyes does as he opens his present. "As in a swimming pool?"

"As in a tiny, pool of fresh water from a falls." I said proudly. I'd hoped that he'd be discouraged, but when did I ever get anything I wished for? How would this night be any different?

"Wouldn't it be cold?"

"I think so," I said, and turned my back on him. I opened the hallway linen closet and picked out a towel.

"What? No bathing suit?" he asked as he followed me out the door.

"Nope," I said simply.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" he smirked.

The night air had certainly cooled significantly. It made me re-think the foolishness of this night outing. But I didn't want to hear the silence of the cottage; or the restlessness I'd feel as soon as my back hit the bed. Especially when I know Edward was just a few feet away.

"I usually don't wear anything when I swim, but I guess I'd have to since you're here." I admitted absent-mindedly.

He swiveled his head fast, his eyes fixed on mine without blinking. "You what?"

I clamped my hand over my mouth as I realized what I just said. Blushing to the roots of my hair, I stammered. "I—I mean, well…Charlie never does to and like I said, no one ever comes here. We don't see another living soul from one week to the next."

"Except Sam?" he posed disapprovingly. "Wait, how do you know your father never wear clothes when he goes for a swim?"

I soon realized that things were getting from bad to worst. But I couldn't stop my mouth for some reason, a proverbial leaking faucet.

"Well, Sam wouldn't come down to the falls, and if he did, I'd hear him a mile off." I grinned. "Loud and clear."

"Why? Because he's breathing heavily?" he asked, his brows raised.

I chuckled. "Tow truck." I said. "Sam never walks if he can ride."

"Smart boy."

"As for Charlie, well…I don't know for sure. I just assumed."

He ignored me and walked further ahead as if he couldn't get away fast enough. I don't blame him. The thought of my father swimming naked was horrifying to say the least.

"A swim might not be a good idea on a night like this," he said. He seemed so far away.

"Why?" I asked, as I stepped over a clump of long grasses. "Is it because your old bones couldn't handle it?" I said mockingly. I was tired of the tension between us. For the first time in a long time, there's a man I could talk to about from world outside Forks. As much as I hated that he saw through me like a clear stream of water, I enjoyed what little light moments we've had.

He stopped dead on his tracks and spun his head like he was a man possessed by the devil.

I wanted to slap a hand on my forehead, afraid that I'd done and offended him again.

I approached him cautiously as I worried my lower lip between my teeth and stopped in front of him.

Initially, I was relieved to find the small smile that played upon his lips.

"Watch what you say, little girl. Or you might just find out the true advantage or disadvantage of my being older." I sensed the teasing inflection in his voice, but his eyes contradicted his jovial tone. There was something dark and ominous about it; foreboding in a sense that brought tingles running up my spine.

I'd only known him for hours.

Edward, for reasons I couldn't understand, had begun to try and make me aware of him. Not for intimidation, but in a way that a man would stake a claim on a woman. But his motive escaped me; after all, I'm but a girl of no consequence. Cloudy past, dreary present and an absent future. Maybe it was just masculine pride that made him wish to arouse my consciousness of him—purely out of curiosity.

He turned his back on me again as he marched and followed the sounds of falling water.

I caught up to him right by my bedrock.

He stood with his hands on his lean hips whilst he watched the waterfall.

Darkness swallowed up the hills on the far side of the valley but a sliver of moon provided some lighting.

"Your father won't object to this?" he asked.

"Why should he?" My cool tone was rhetorical. I walked away through the long, rustling grass, the spears reached waist-high in places. The rough stems brushed against my legs, like tiny bloodless paper cuts.

The pool of water was a cool glimmer of silver between the rocks and the green banks, the water choked with weed. Without looking at Edward, I stripped off my shirt and pulled off my shorts, which left me with nothing on save for my undergarments. I don't know what gave me the courage to do just that. But it made me feel free. At least under the water, on my own, no one would look at me with judgment in their eyes.

I dove under the freezing water.

It was invigorating. Cold, yes. But it helped cool the fire that smoldered steadily inside me since meeting Edward.

I floated just beneath the surface; minutes may have gone by. I wasn't sure. I could see Edward by the banks, pacing as he looked down at me. Stalking was more like it. His eyes were like green laser that penetrated the water and eventually pierced through my frigid flesh.

I sank even deeper, almost to the murky bottom. I stayed there for a couple of more minutes, lost in the muffled sound of the world above me. The coldness of the water did not affect me at all. I was used to coldness, physically and emotionally.

When my chest grew painfully heavy, I broke through the surface and splashed as I fought to stabilize myself.

I was suddenly pulled out of the water and onto the grass; his grip painfully strong on my arms.

"God," he muttered, "Bella…" he knelt over me and through lowered lashes I watched his face. He was panicked. "I was about to—just—God!" His body shook as beads of sweat as well as water dripped on his brow. He pulled me against his chest and heard the violent tattoo of his heart in my ears.

I couldn't help it.

I opened my eyes and laughed. Did he think I was drowning?

There was a long silence. He didn't laugh with me.

"I can hold my breath for ages, Edward." I said blithely, my laughter slowly sputtered as I realized he was truly worried.

"You scared the fuck out of me," he said between his teeth, still furious.

With my laughter completely gone, I felt remorseful when I saw the whiteness of his face and the harsh flare of his nostrils that indicated the trouble I was in.

"I'm sorry, Edward," my hands fisted on his shirt and coddled closer to him still, as if the distance between us was far too much…or perhaps to test my docile feminine whiles.

"Sorry!" his chest rumbled as he yelled in my ears. He pushed off and we were suddenly lying down on the grass with him on top of me. My hands were trapped between our chests, imprisoning me with his steely body. His breaths came in spurts as if every draw hurt his lungs.

He stared down on my repentant face with eyes that glowed with fire.

I was about to apologize again when he bent his head and his lips closed over mine.

The tingles that I felt whenever he touched me were nothing compared to the volt of electricity running through my skin. It started at the bottom of my spine and slowly zapped through my blood stream slowly. I've never been kissed before. The experience was too strange, too blissful to comprehend. My eyes were opened and wide, startled like a deer. I didn't know what to do, how to reciprocate. But he felt good, his lips were masculine yet soft. He tasted sweet like fully ripened lime soaked in vanilla. Was that even possible?

He must've sensed my trepidation, "Open your mouth," he said. I didn't move, my lips remain pursed and I avoided looking into his eyes. "Open your mouth, Bella," he commanded. The words were uttered in slow but forceful degree. His face descended again, his lips took mine with more vigor than the last as he tried to pry them open.

Then I started to panic. My palms slid up his shoulders as he devoured my lips. I pushed him with all my might, terrified for the first time that I really did not know who this angry person was; what he was capable of.

"Let me go," I begged and pushed him harder still.

He released me in an instant; his body flew back as if he was a tightly coiled elastic. He lay beside me on the grass, his breaths came as heavy as mine. We were like two soloists, singing the same tune. My body shivered uncontrollably but I refused to let it show.

"You'll catch a chill," he commented detachedly. "We better head back to the cottage."

"I'm sorry I scared you," my voice hitched lightly and tried to cover my nakedness with my arms around my body. I could almost hear the wild beating of his heart as if the panic still possessed him.

He turned his body towards mine, "Is that all you're going to say?" he asked angrily. He looked dangerous, as if he wanted to do something violent. Chills wracked my body and it wasn't from the damp coldness but from the way he looked at me.

Then his expression smoothed out and gave me an odd smile.

"That's all right, Bella," he said coolly. "Children play these silly games from time to time."

I was chilled to the bone—from inadequacy. What does he want from me? I don't know the first thing about kissing back or how I should react to his advances. Was that why he was furious? Or was it still about his fear that I'd drowned?

He stood up and moved down to the bank where I'd left my clothes.

Slowly, I lifted my sodden body off the grass and anxiously waited for his return. I shook violently; my fingers and toes numb. I all but snatched my clothes from his hand, and ran to hide.

It hurt—this feeling of never being good enough. Demoralizing in a way that no matter who walks into my life, I couldn't be the person they wanted. Except maybe for Sam. I shook my head lightly as if to vanish the thought.

With trembling fingers and shuddering breaths, I took off my saturated undergarments and quickly changed into my shirt and shorts. I came out from behind the whispering tall blades of grass with my wet clothes bundled in the towel.

Edward stared up to the sky, his face impassive.

The moon came out in the warm dark sky and the reflection trailed across the face of the water like sparkling diamonds. I stood beside him and waited for him to speak.

The silence became too much for me to bear. "A lovely night," I commented lamely. "Isn't it beautiful, Edward?" I continued as I looked up to the fully risen moon. "Impossible to imagine that man has ever been up there—human beings are so greedy experience something impossible as landing on the moon, disturbing its dusts…but no matter how beautiful it is, it can never be as bright as the sun—or as warm."

"Beautiful," he said softly. His eyes moved over my face as if he was thinking of something else.

"It's such a temptation," he said huskily. "That exquisite thing, what man could resist being the first to possess it?" His eyes drank me in for much longer than I'd hoped and then quickly looked back up to the sky.

I had the strange feeling that he wasn't talking about the moon.

"You can't possess the moon," I croaked under the intensity of those green eyes. "Look at it, it rejects us all."

"Yet man has taken it," he said, unblinking. The moonlight shimmered on his face, making him look out of the ordinary. Surreal.

"They went and left," I lamented. "Got what they wanted and left. It didn't matter that how beautiful it was or what it could offer—passing ships, passing whims. They just wanted to satisfy their curiosity. In the end, the moon remains alone…cold." For some odd reason, stupid tears spurted from my eyes.

We definitely weren't talking about the moon anymore.

Edward moved closer. "You're human, Isabella. Don't despise your existence simply because Charlie couldn't stand his own pain. He's letting his own grief eat at his insides. Don't let him warp the goodness in you into something ugly." His hand tucked a strand of wet hair behind my ears. I shivered at the contact. My chest constricted even more.

I looked up at him with watery gaze as his hand cupped my right cheek. "Do I sound warped? I just think that men should leave something as beautiful and remote as the moon. Why should they try to possess it any more than they want to climb the Everest simply because it's there? They don't value the value of it. They should just leave it alone." I ranted, out of breath as I finished.

His hand dropped to his side; his face warred with emotions.

"You're right," he said as he turned away. "Just because the temptation is there doesn't mean I should act on it."

When did the moon become a metaphor of me? But I've come to the conclusion that the moon and I have something in common.

No matter what we do, we could never be good enough.


	5. Chapter 5 First Taste

A/N: I'm sorry it took me a while to update. One of my real life friends found me out and I can't say I'm very pleased about it...because now she's going to hound me to write until my fingers are all bloody. But you know what? who else could you trust to push your limit but those close to you?

Annie is awesome. I hope you're happy, you whore...oh and I heart you.

"**I lie in an early bed thinking late thoughts**

**Waiting for the black to replace my blue**

**I do not struggle in your web**

**Because it was my aim to get caught**

**But daddy long legs, I feel that I'm finally growing weary**

**Of waiting to be consumed by you."**

**- First Taste, by Fiona Apple**

**CHAPTER 5 – First Taste**

When we got back to the house, I offered to brew him tea. He looked at the clock with hesitation and then eventually followed me to the kitchen. I knew he wanted to say no, but I saw the gentle shivers that wracked his body. We sat at the table; mugs on our hands. The silence was awkward at first. I battled with my resolve not to touch my lips; but the mere memory of what he felt like was so irresistible. The thought was enough to defrost the coldest part of me.

The slow tick of the walnut clock was like a heartbeat on the wall; ticking to the staccato of mine. We avoided each other's eyes but couldn't avoid each other's unease.

He set his mug down and said quietly, "I'm very grateful to you and Charlie for taking me in…but tomorrow I have to find a hotel."

His eyes were darting everywhere but to my face; and seemed to have found purchase on my damp shirt, particularly the front part where the chills in my body were more obvious. I tried to chase the embarrassment away, but the flush helplessly appeared on my cheeks anyway.

I can't say I was surprised by his plans.

"You don't have to do that you know," I said after a minute or two. "Charlie really likes having you around. You have no idea how nasty he can be when he doesn't like someone around." And then I thought to myself, _or maybe you do; for you've seen the way he was with me. _

He looked at me in a brooding fashion, as if he read exactly what was on my mind.

"And you, Bella?" he asked timidly.

I looked away, afraid that my face would reveal how much I really wanted him to stay.

"I like having you here," I whispered. "It's a nice change having someone to talk to. Sometimes, I could go the whole day without having any conversations with anyone—besides Jake, of course." I smiled timidly.

He sighed with a hint of annoyance. It seemed that I could never appease him.

"In that case, thank you."

Teenagers are known to have fragile feelings; sensitivity that leads to a lot of insecurities. It did occur to me that I might've been holding him back to the life he'd want to go back to. Aside from that kiss, we are nothing more than strangers to each other and I was no more but a kid. As if my wants and desires held any weight for his decision to go or to stay. And worst yet, I had a sinking feeling that he felt like I was forcing him to my company.

"If you want to go, Edward, of course you must." I said with a bit more chill in my voice. I couldn't mask the bitterness no matter how much I'd tried to stamp it down.

He looked at my face, thoroughly—searchingly, for a minute, then stood up with another drawn-out sigh. "Goodnight, Bella. I hope there are no lasting effects from your swim."

"I'll be fine." I answered harshly.

I watched him walked away before I forced myself to stand up.

It seemed like little thing sets him off. What I found amusing and honest were all but a nuisance to him.

And even with that knowledge, my curiosity ate me up inside; everything about him puzzled me and the need to be closer needled tiny holes in my brain. I've never wanted to learn more about anyone as I did with him. As much I keep reminding myself that he was just a passing person in my life, my mind just couldn't stop thinking about him. Is he married? Was he ever married? I found it hard to believe that no woman had ever caught his fancy. He was a very attractive man. Those haunted eyes that leave me breathless with one look; his accidental touches that seemed to bring annoyance and some curious wonder to his face; and his essence that permeated the air like a morning mist.

I wondered if Charlie would find him an interesting subject, or whether the beauty of his face might be too attractive for Charlie's taste. He doesn't like portraying beauty, male or female. He'd rather see the exquisiteness of a grotesque object. His subject's splendor had to be forged by heartache, tempered with suffering so deep, that it calls out from the canvasses. But then again, if you caught Edward unguarded, you will find the anguish hidden beneath his handsome face.

I shook my head to erase the Edward fog that seemed to have settled there.

I wondered if I'd ever get my peace back.

**~oo00oo~**

The next morning I woke up to the sound of Sam's truck idling outside the house.

I looked outside the window and found Edward with Jake in tow, bounding down the steps to the gate.

I yawned and stretched, groaning as my bones cracked and complained. The sunshine filtered through the hazy gauze curtain in my bedroom as a soft breeze billowed through inside. Judging by the tepid air, it was another Indian summer day. The crows were already out taunting Jake, cawing and flapping their wings in flight.

I slipped to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. The reflection on the mirror showed a flushed face with bright eyes and wild hair. My fingers robotically went to my lips, touching and remembering. I didn't know what I'd expected. They were still the same full lips; the bottom fuller than the top. Was there supposed to be a noticeable change just because I've been kissed for the first time? Would people know?

I suppressed the giggle that threatened to come out to no avail. I'd never thought that I would ever get my first kiss…let alone from someone like Edward. He was just so—mature, handsome and way out of my league.

By the time I was done, Sam and Edward were still having a conversation about his car.

"I'm pretty sure my shop can fix…" Sam started to say then paused when he saw me. "Good morning, Bella," his eyes lit up.

Edward turned around and stared at me.

He seemed annoyed already and the day had just barely started.

I furrowed my brow and wondered if Charlie had anything to do with his sour mood.

"Good morning, Sam," I greeted him back.

I clicked my tongue, summoning Jake. He sprinted towards me without delay. _At least two out of these three men were happy to see me_, I lamented.

"You were saying, Sam?" Edward said curtly. Sam threw me an uneasy smile before facing Edward.

"My shop can fix your car," he said determinedly. He sounded like he was convincing himself more than he was convincing Edward. "Not much wrong with her, really."

Edward's only response was a nod.

Sam reluctantly moved away and headed in my direction. He rolled his eyes and smiled as soon as his back was to Edward.

"How's Charlie? Hiding? Have you asked him about Saturday yet?"

"Three questions all at once," I teased, smiling at his dark eyes. "Fine. Yes. No."

He frowned playfully. "Come on, Bella. You have to come," he whined. "You owe me at least thirty dances."

I scoffed. "I'm only seventeen, Sam. The dance has been going on every year. How could I possibly owe you thirty dances?"

"Well, let's see," he worried his lower lip as he counted in his head. "I started going since I was seventeen, you haven't gone, period. It's been five years since, that's at least six dances per year…so that makes thirty!" he exclaimed, proud of himself.

I laughed. "Yes, but when you were seventeen I was only twelve! How could you possibly want to dance with a gawky child like me?"

Sam didn't get the chance to rebuff.

"Can you move your truck? I want to take Jake out for a walk." Edward barked, his posture surly. His lips tightened into a thin line as his jaw ticked in irritation.

Sam gave him a long look then turned to me. His light mood was gone, replaced by a scowl on his face. "See you later, Bella." He said quietly. I wanted to stop him and reprimand Edward but he walked away stiffly, shoulders slumped and doggedly dragged his feet to his truck. My voice was drowned by the engine as it roared into a noisy life then chugged away down the lane.

When the truck was out of sight, the whole place turned too quiet with nothing to be heard but the cawing crows and Jake's excited huffs.

I closed my eyes and turned my face to the sun; the warmth seeping into my skin like a tender moisture. I ignored the brusque mood Edward was in. Whatever happened between him and Charlie was their business. I wasn't going to get involved. My father and I drew a line a long time ago. I've yet to cross it and was not about to just because of Edward was in a punishing mood.

Edward glowered at nothing and nowhere in particular but I soon sensed his eyes on me.

"Do you like him?" he asked, his tone still gruff.

"Of course I like him," I said, wondering where his question came from. "I've known him all my life."

He laughed sarcastically. "Right. Just like you've known your father all your life. Ergo, you automatically love him or in Sam's case, like someone even if they're not deserving." He turned away from me as soon as his cryptic ranting was over.

"What are you implying, Edward?" I asked him, enraged. "You don't even know Sam. How could you assume he's not deserving of my affection?" He continued to walk away, ignoring my rage.

I pulled on his arm. "I'm really getting sick of your cryptic remarks. If you have something to say, say it. Don't pussyfoot around me. I'm not a child!" I yelled at him, my face flushed from anger. Children are supposed to love their parents, were they not? Wasn't it a natural borne instinct? And so what if I like Sam?—do I even like Sam in a way that he viciously implied?

He took my hand off his arm and pulled away. "You're right. You're not a child. So how about this," he started; his face, just as red. "This world—" he paused. He spread his arms out, like a man frustrated. "This is not you." He grabbed me pulled me to his chest, his fingers dug on my arms painfully. "When you finally go out there, Bella, you'll be so shocked that you'd wish you'd stayed in that convent. What kind of father sentenced his own daughter to this life? Have you asked him? What have you done besides live? Is that a sin? Is that a crime?" He pushed me off and I staggered on my feet.

He turned his back on me, his fists clenching and unclenching.

"Why do you care so much, Edward?" I asked him gravely, my eyes swam with unshed tears. It was too early in the morning for some

self-discovery.

"Trust me," he gave me a withering look. "I've been up all night asking the same thing." He walked away, leaving me puzzled one more time.

"You are so hung up on us living like hermits that you're missing something vitally important—we like the way we live, Edward."

"Right, you love it so much that you'd do practically anything just to talk to somebody else other than your dog. Give me a break, Bella."

I glared at his retreating back.

It felt like I'm being pulled in different directions.

I didn't know what Edward wanted from me. As if it would be easy for me to leave Charlie; leave the only life I'd ever known.

"Edward," I called him, trudging in his wake.

When he didn't acknowledge me or slowed down his strides, I jogged after him.

"Edward," I repeated louder, almost shouting.

I caught up to him outside the fence, as he headed in the direction of his car accident.

"Where do you suppose I should go, Edward?" I asked breathlessly. My chest was heaving and was hurting from something else other than the physical exertion of running. "If I leave here, what do you think my chances are of surviving out there?"

I'm not being naïve, at least I don't think so. It was a justified question. Me: who have absolutely no knowledge of life outside Forks. Me: who had never question anything or fought for something that I wanted. I didn't know any better.

He gazed out towards the line of trees, unmoving.

"You could come with me," he said without looking at me.

I laughed; it was preposterous of him for even suggesting something inappropriate or whatever implications were attached to his proposal.

"As what Edward?" I mocked him then changed course. "No one would even hire me. Sure I graduated high school, but I've never worked for anyone in my entire life."

"You're right," he consented. "I don't know what the hell I'm thinking—hell, I haven't been able to think clearly since I got stranded here. Maybe I did suffer a concussion."

He started walking again with Jake by his side and me slightly behind them.

I tried to calm my nerves by enjoying the warm day. The slight breeze was a nice reprieve from the heat of the morning; the sun was at its full force and unforgiving. Forks' climate has always been wet but the dense heat, accompanied by the wind was nice nonetheless.

"Has he kissed you?" He asked out of nowhere.

I frowned, slipping in beside him. What was it that irritated him?  
>Was it that I kissed him back when he thought I like another boy?<p>

"None of your business." I answered tightly.

"Oh come on, Bella," he said drily. "A man like Sam wouldn't be sniffing around you had you given him any hint other than you want him."

"You've got a one-track mind," I snapped back and walked further ahead of him.

"It's a well-worn track," he lumbered behind me. "Men and women have followed it for centuries. It's what makes the world go round—you know—how populations start to grow. Surely, even in your quiet cottage there was some mention of love?"

"You're confusing love and lust, sir." I said with fake cheerfulness.

"Will you recognize the dividing line?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes before answering. "I supposed so…"

He laughed mockingly. "You don't know what I'm talking about do you?" His eyes sparkled mischievously. "Do you want me to tell you?" he paused, "or show you?" his very tone was husky, as if he could barely get the words out.

I looked around us…trees, empty road and no one in sight but Jake. His tone nicked something that thrilled me; excitement marbled with fear.

"I've a vague idea," I said, my errant thoughts kept straying to the night before; grassy growth beneath me, the feel of his steely arms and finally, his soft, velvety lips.

Lust, it seemed, was the cause of the thousand butterfly wings fluttering in my belly; the glorious warmth that flooded my cheeks every time he caught my eyes.

Love, was something else entirely.

"I think half the fun of life is finding out for one's self," I added.

"Typical female evasion maneuvers," he muttered with a snort.

I dismissed his comment with a sigh.

"So, what would you like to do today?"

He glanced at me through the fringes of his long lashes. "My God, do I ever want to tell you," he said through his teeth.

I felt the color flooding my face, which I could've easily ignored had it not been for the feather light strokes he gave on the apple of my cheeks.

"That's very pretty," I didn't know what else to say. I had a hard time meeting his gaze.

But when I eventually looked up, his eyes were hungry.

Edward had a strange effect on me, quite unlike that of any other human being I'd ever met and though I'd only met a handful, I'd known with all my heart that he had left a stamp on my humanity; that when he's gone and life went back to normal, some part of me would be missing.

"How about we go to Blue Breadth?" I blurted after a full minute; my voice croaking nervously. His finger left my cheeks as his hand dropped to his side.

Blue Breadth was hillock where deers roamed and munched on the fields that span the area.

I watched his back as he continued on his gait. He turned right and off the road to the grassy expanse of land where Jake and I rested the day of his accident.

"Do you know why it got the name?" I asked as I finally caught up to him.

"No," he said "Why?"

"I have no idea," I said, laughing as his face turned sour once again.

"You're such a tease, do you know that?"

I laughed again, "Sorry," It felt good; laughter was just something that's hard to come by when all you've got were nature and a Labrador for company.

"Race you to the other side of the hill," he declared right before he took off like a jack rabbit.

My hair flew around everywhere as it temporarily limited my view; but not enough that I wasn't able to see Jake speed past me.

It was so easy to get lost in the moment with Edward; just as it was easy to get sucked in to life's misgivings as he points them out one by one. I was but a jar full of emotions; made with different taps. He could turn me on and off and released whatever emotions he evoked from me. I can only imagine what it would be like to live permanently with him; perhaps like living on a double-edged sword. Either way, I'll end up wounded.

When I reached the summit, they were already down at the bottom catching their breaths.

I was puffing and panting like a chain smoker after a marathon.

"No fair," I protested. I finally fell down beneath their feet, winded and exhausted.

"How was that not fair?" he wheezed as he held out his hands to help me up.

"You got a head start," I said, out of breath. "And you've got longer legs."

He lifted me up easily and didn't let go at once. He held me and looked down into my smiling, flushed face; his eyes roved over my features as if he was an artist memorizing them. His hands slid over my back and gripped my t-shirt. There were a few moments where he seemed to be having a mental debate as to how he should proceed.

And then finally, he lowered his head and his mouth came down on mine, hard. I closed my eyes, as I'd done previously and when his strong lips exerted contrived pressure, my mouth parted with a sigh. I could hear his heart's acceleration as if he was running again and my own was keeping pace in sympathy with his. I grew breathless, suffocating under the hardness of his mouth. What was tender last night was punishing right at that moment. The heady feeling spawned fear; something was different, terrifying and all consuming.

I pushed him off with balled fists then stepped back a few inches, his image swirled before me in a woozy haze.

He let me go; and sucked air into his lungs as though he was on the verge of drowning. And the green eyes stared down at me in an odd enquiring way, as if he tried to search my own, seeking for a response to some unspoken question.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," I said frankly. "I can't think why you like it. It makes me feel dizzy."

His eyes wrinkled in sudden amusement. "It makes me feel dizzy too," he said wryly. "But for different reasons. So you don't like it when I kiss you?"

"Not like that," I replied, shaking my head. "I liked the kiss last night. That was nice."

"Why is your heart beating so fast?" he asked softly as he laid a hand on my breast.

I looked down, startled. The long tapered fingers lay lightly against a part of me, their warmth reaching right through the cotton shirt.

"Maybe because you scared me," I said cautiously. "Can I tell you a secret?" I looked down at my slippered feet.

He removed his hand without comment and nodded. I sank down on the grass and stared over the landscape.

"I've—," I began, stammering because I couldn't get the words out without embarrassing myself. "I've never been kissed before."

He laughed.

Of course he would.

All the blood rushed up in my head, spewing a rainbow of red in different hues. I started to get up, intending to run away but he held on to my arm and pulled me down. I ended up cradled in his lap; like a child in need of pacifying.

"Silly Bella," he soothed me in a calm voice. "Of course I was your first kiss. No one in their right mind would spoil someone like you, nor would they risk the wrath of Charlie." He cupped my face in his hands tenderly and stroked my lips with his thumb.

I've never felt so cared for, so loved, even for just a minute. This person made me feel so much I felt like I was so full that I could howl. How could he read me like an open book? And the rational part of me knew it was a game; a passing fancy.

But then I realized that if these were all just a game to him, I would kill to be a willing participant.

I slowly looked up, my heart drummed fast against my breastbone. I just realized how much I was being dishonest with myself; that I could think of a lot of reasons for not feeling this way towards him. But then I see his lips, and all of those flew out of the window. I wanted him to kiss me. What was a genuine curiosity at first quickly turned into a restless wanting that bordered on obsession.

I moved my face closer and opened my mouth slightly. My hands tentatively move to his shoulders and pulled him to me. The distance was gone. His lips were mine. My hands pressed down into the strong, warm flesh of his shoulders, as if I was hanging from a cliff and only his strength kept me from falling.

He's so addictive and sinful; a temptation that can't be ignored.

His hands moved around my back and lifted me off easily. The maneuver had me under him in two seconds flat.

I gasped.

He made me feel a new sensation; a weakness, as if I were a melting candle. But then his body was there to gather me into a pool of molten existence, only to dissolve again under his warm, turgid body. His hardness felt odd—good, but odd. I felt his every demand as his hands mould my flesh.

His hand crept lower and snuck under my shirt.

His hand on my breast, as it shaped and kneaded, brought a certain flood of liquid warmth below my body that I was powerless to stop the shameless moan that burst out from my entrapped lips.

He made me feel so much all at once. I wanted to thrash and thrust my body much closer to his; beyond his skin, until we're enfolded in one. And though I didn't understand where all these feelings came from, one thing was clear—I never wanted him to stop.

His mouth slid over my flushed cheek, down to my throat. Once my mouth was free, I panted and breathed in his skin. His movements were languid, calculated and sure. He pushed aside the sun-warmed mass of my hair and nuzzled his nose just below my ear.

I drew my hands down on his body, while his worked my flesh under the thin shirt. I discovered the contours of his chest and felt his heart that palpitated rapidly. For the first time in my life, it occurred to me that physical touch was exciting. I shook with the need for more…more of his taste and intimacy. His mouth tenderly sucked the flesh of my throat and licked the skin under my chin. I threw my head back and groaned.

He paused; as if the sound I made startled him awake. I looked down on his face, eyes shut, lips sealed tight.

"Bella…" he said hoarsely. He leaned his forehead against mine and bit his lower lip so hard that I was afraid he'd break his skin.

"Bella…" He sounded as breathless as I felt; his hand under my shirt tightened into a fist. I swallowed the sudden fear that he'd let me go.

And suddenly he sat away from me.

"Fuck," he muttered below his breath. I opened my eyes and stared him blindly, caught up in the brilliant sensuality he had shown me.

"We have to go," he said harshly and got to his feet.

I lay there, dazed, confused and hurt.

I pulled my shirt down and slowly got up, my legs were weak and my insides were mush.

Why had he stopped?

Wasn't it as exciting for him as it was for me?

As I followed his lean figure back towards the house, I suddenly realized that for Edward, the overwhelming rush of sensual pleasure was not a novel feeling for him. He was a man used to probably all sorts of wicked ways and had felt this before, while I, for him did not feel as mind blowing as his other encounters were. I had read of love in books, but nothing could ever compare to this.

It was all a game he had played before…and I've played right in his hands.

Too bad it left him disappointed.


	6. Chapter 6  Warning

**I do not own Twilight nor do I own the lyrics to Warning. **

**A/N: Hello! Thanks for tuning in. I've got another chapter tomorrow :) YAY! *waves* to Annie. **

"**The sea began to shiver**

**And the wind began to moan**

**It must've been a sign for me**

**To leave you well alone."**

**Warning, by Black Sabbath**

**CHAPTER 6 - Warning**

That evening, Charlie decided to play another game of chess with Edward.

"I feel like I'm going to win this time," he said with a mirthless smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Edward responded with a nod and a quirk on his lips; not quite a grin, more like a grimace.

The tension between them was palpable. Something happened between them that morning but I was terrified to ask Charlie. I don't know Edward well enough to guess that he would tell me if I asked.

I sat down on the chair and curled my body like a child; settling in comfortably for what looked like more than just a battle of mental strategy. Territorial, even. Edward's intellectual strength was just as obvious as his physical prowess. The cool hard assurance was like a steel armor that made me feel unarmed and defenseless during those times when he'd call me out on my weaknesses even as I use Charlie as a shield.

The game proceeded as it should; with Charlie lost in his thoughts, investing more concentration than usual on each and every move. Edward, however, didn't look intimidated at all. In fact, he looked…bored and tired. His eyes kept watching the clock as if there was an appointment he was about to miss.

My body grew listless and numb as the minutes ticked into the hour. I uncoiled myself to settle more comfortably. The move drew Edward's attention. His dark head lifted from the board and his eyes flickered into mine. My feet grew numb, having sat on them for a prolonged period of time. When the pins and needles stared to dissipate, I yawned loudly in an unladylike manner, bringing an amused smile on Edward's lips.

I froze when I saw Charlie's hawk-like gaze on Edward. He was watching him impassively; but the set in his jaw spoke volumes of displeasure. There was a hint of mild anger in his eyes which made me think that he had some inkling as to what was happening under his nose between Edward and me. The thought made me shudder.

"Your move," Charlie said softly. Edward was winning by three pieces, but judging by Charlie's position, he could take the whole game easily with a shift of Edward's knight.

Edward looked down at the board with a strange darkened look in his green eyes. I saw with disbelief that he was going to fall for it. I chewed on my thumbnail and curiously waited for his next move.

His hand hesitated over the piece.

I saw the darkness clear from his eyes and smirked as he looked at Charlie in the eye. Like two boxers about to spar, they took in a stance which held promises that neither of them would back down. To Charlie's dismay, however, Edward did not take the game seriously.

Edward looked away and down back to the board. He drew back his hand from where it hovered over the piece that would've ended the game in one move.

Charlie grunted in displeasure as Edward steered clear of his trap.

"Make us some tea, Bella." Charlie ordered without tearing his gaze away from Edward.

I got up and drew Edward's attention once again. The green eyes ran over me until they came into contact with my own, bringing a tide of warm awareness rising from within me.

I left without a word to brew their teas.

When I brought it back, Charlie nodded in my direction and said calmly, "Now go to bed, Bella."

"Oh…but…" I began to protest but fell silent as Charlie merely turned his head and glared at me. I'd never resisted his commands before, and I knew that it would be fruitless to poke the flames of his ire.

Edward turned to look at me too, but his face was unreadable.

I sighed and mumbled to no one in particular. "Good night."

**~oo00oo~**

Sleep wouldn't come.

I mostly stared outside my window and watched the gentle breeze rustle in the trees. The chirping crickets made up most of the soundtrack of the night. It should've lulled me to sleep as soon as my back hit the bed. But something was keeping me awake.

The course of my life had changed that day, I just know it; and although I was not certain why, the unease between Charlie and Edward had bothered me in ways that wouldn't stop my mind from thinking. All in all, my father seemed different from the way he regarded Edward. And what was disconcerting was that he seemed protective of me somehow; not in an obvious way but just the way he stood on guard every time Edward's eyes would watch me. It was making me anxious. I wasn't used to this side of Charlie.

Time kept on ticking without any signs that they were done with the game. I lay in my bed drowsily, albeit, restlessly with nothing to distract me but my thoughts.

It was minutes later when I heard Charlie's familiar footsteps as he made his way to his room; followed by Edward's long strides, gently jolting me awake. My stupid heart started thrumming like the wings of a trapped bird, anxious with the thought of freedom. _Did I think he was going to see me before he went to bed?_ I wanted him to, badly. I wanted him to kiss me and dispel the enthusiastic energy that was keeping me awake. I wanted his face to be last thing I see. I wanted him to promise me that when the morning comes, he would still be there. But most of all, I wanted his kisses, his taste; I wanted that warm, gooey feeling when his skin touches mine.

But of course…he wouldn't come.

I heard the creak of his bed's springs while he tossed and turned, as if he felt my own restlessness. My mind tuned in to his every move, like a gentle lullaby whispered in my ears.

It wasn't long until my lids dropped and sleep washed over me, while thoughts of the day gone by played like a film in a glorious loop.

When I got up in the morning, I found Edward in the kitchen eating a slice of toast. He looked at me calmly and asked, "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," I said, and looked away from his probing eyes.

I lied.

I had slept fitfully. I woke often from restless dreams of which I remembered nothing but his not so chaste kisses.

Edward's eyes kept on searching my evading features.

I hid under the veil of my hair, on a pretense of pouring tea and buttering a slice of untoasted bread.

I didn't want him to see the dark circles around my eyes, nor the bloom of pink that spread like blotches on my neck.

"Is that all you're going to have for breakfast?" he asked irritably.

"It's all I ever have in the mornings," I replied with a frown forming on lips.

"You're too thin," he said snappily. While his eyes glided over me with repugnance, my body reacted traitorously. I shivered.

"I'm very fit," I said defensively and clenched my hands into fists to resist pinching my flesh.

"So you told me," he returned in a brittle, barbed tone. "You never get sick, you never get lonely, and you never want anything else right, Bella?" He said accusingly. "You're pretty much _invulnerable_," he was so critical of everything about me. Why did he even bother with his kisses and touches that spoke differently of how he felt about me? He made my head spin with his interchangeable moods that I never knew what I'd done to provoke them. He had been such a bear to deal with for two mornings straight that I'd wondered if it was just a part of who he was.

But I have heard enough.

"What's wrong? Are you mad at me or something?"

_Invulnerable. _He made it sound like it was a dirty word.

How could he even say that when he'd become a necessity in my life? That he was a liquid fire that I needed in my bloodstream? That his honesty was the courage I needed to face the shortfalls of living with Charlie? How could he have said that I was invulnerable when I was _most_ vulnerable with him?

All I got was more of his brooding silence. I wish I was one of those strong people who could budge a boulder with incessant questioning; that I push and prod until I'd heard what I wanted to hear.

But I wasn't. And Edward wasn't the type of person who could easily be persuaded. If he didn't want to talk then I refuse to push him any further.

"What shall we do today?" I asked in an attempt to lighten up the mood. I didn't want his day to start awful again like it did yesterday.

"I am not here to amuse children," his cruelty stuck a knife in me; twisting where a splintered piece of Edward has pricked me deep. "I'm going to walk into town and see if I can get a flight out of here as soon as possible." He bit into the last of his toast and stood up abruptly.

What was the matter with him? I wanted to yell, scream. I wanted to throw a fit out of sheer frustration. I wish there was someone in life that could tell me about these men who thought that I could dissect and read their minds.

Heat burned at the back of my lids and threatened to spill into hot tears. I swallowed the angry sob that formed in my throat.

I accepted his dismissal without protest then turned away and sipped the scalding tea. I should be used to this. My life with Charlie surely had prepared me for anything. Still, the not knowing what I'd done to make him ill tempered drove me up the wall. But I did what I usually did. Take it as it comes, never disputing. It was easier that way.

"Will you be all right by yourself?" he asked with some reluctance.

"Of course," I mumbled without looking at him. I would not ask if I could go with him or show him around town. Clearly, all the bravado of his invitation to leave Forks with him was nothing but a polite offering laced with falsity.

He hesitated a few seconds later, then sighed and left the kitchen. I heard the door gently closed as if with some finality. I sat down on the chair, trembling, while waves of desperate sadness crashed over me. I'd grown used to being excluded in my entire life; cliques at school who didn't want anything to do with me, even my own father who'd rather be with his art. But Edward's rejection hurt me deeply.

And I didn't know what I did to deserve his coldness.

I got up stiffly and began to tidy the kitchen.

I buried Edward's cruel words deep into the recesses of my mind. I was comforted with the fact that he will come back for his things. I just had to prepare myself for his immediate departure, an eventuality that I was powerless to stop.

For the next hour, I busied myself with housework. There wasn't much to do. After all, how much of a mess could two people do in such a small space? Charlie refused to have a woman in to clean, and since his habits were essentially simple and neat, there was no real need for one, anyway.

Once the house and the bedrooms were tidied up, I whistled for Jake and went for a walk around the yard.

We weren't out there for very long when Charlie appeared by the front door with a mug in his hand.

"Where's Edward?" he called out to us.

"He went into town," I answered, as I threw a stick in Jake's direction. "He said he was going to see if he can get a flight back home."

Charlie nodded; his face void of emotions. He sat on the front steps and watched us for a while. There was something different about the way he observed me; as if he was seeing me for the first time. There wasn't a grimace that held contempt but more of an acceptance.

A mental debate was going on in his head; I could tell by the way he was fussing with his graying moustache and his eyes' refusal to meet mine.

"He doesn't fit in around here," he said unexpectedly. "Men like him should stay where they belong."

My heart dropped to my stomach.

"He was born around here," I protested. "And what do you mean, men like him?"

"Experienced. Spoiled. He's way too old for you, Bella."

"What are you talking about, Dad?" a strangled laugh burst forth from my mouth as I threw Jake's stick a little further out; with probably more enthusiasm than I should have.

"Don't play coy with me," he got up from the stoop and whistled for Jake. "I've seen the way he looks at you and the way you look at him when you think nobody's looking."

He ruffled Jake's fur from behind his ears and stared at me with his eyes blazing.

"Don't go inviting trouble, Bella. Because rest assured that he will be the one who'd walk away unscathed."

With a last look, he went inside the house and back into his studio.

Charlie's advice dragged my mood further on a downward spin. I sank down on the grass and stretched out in the sun with Jake beside me. I knew I'd probably not live through the heartache if anything happen between Edward and I. In hindsight, I think whatever was brewing between us was inevitable. But I didn't think I had anything to be afraid of judging by how Edward treated me this morning. He was so aloof and cold that once he got back from his excursion to town, he would be gone forever faster than I can say goodbye. But then again, he was like the wind, changing directions any which way.

The thought somehow did not lessen the despair that had taken root in me since this morning.

I lay back more comfortably and relapsed into somnolence. The morning passed as other mornings had so often done and I dozed off like a baby after my restlessness night.

Jake's furious barking woke me up; his buccaneering spirit was roused by rustlings in a hedge nearby as he bolted off to chase some small creature. I sat up cross-legged and stretched before getting up to follow Jake's boisterous woof. I ended up behind Charlie's studio, where a swing was tied between two trees. The thick ropes had shown some wear but it still supported my weight. Jake ran around chasing who knows what in the bushes as I swung gently with the breeze.

Thoughts of Edward passed away as I surrounded myself with the sweet, warm smell of the outdoors. It may be incomprehensible to some but the air, the sun, the flowers and trees, the sound of the birds chirping made me feel free and alive; like I couldn't ask for anything more.

Lies.

The passage of the wind across my hot face was delicious; but thoughts of Edward's breath close to my face were incomparable.

I heard the steps behind me as they trample the grass. I didn't have to turn around to know that it was Edward. Something about a change in the atmosphere and the way my heart sped gave it away. A deep, happy smile lifted my mouth as he caught the ropes to still the swing.

His hand reached around me and tilted my head back for a kiss. His warm, delicious mouth captured mine in a familiar, addictive way. His cool reception from this morning seemed to have disappeared along with my ability to think as his hand inched down and curved over my breast. He groaned and sighed my name while his warm fingers caressed me. I could feel myself melting, submitting to anything his skilled hand could teach me. I didn't know why he was suddenly himself again and I didn't want to stop to ask. I responded eagerly, ardently and with all my stupid, aching heart.

He lifted his head; his lids half closed and breathed hard.

I leapt off the swing, light as a feather, high as a kite on my bare feet. He took a turn and sat idly on the wooden plank. He reached out and pulled me closer. His arms went around my waist, which brought his head to my chest. He seemed to be in need of comfort; of assurance. And I was afraid that he was about to say goodbye.

"Are you leaving me now, Edward?" I asked softly. My heart lodged in my throat. Unable to breathe.

"I should," he replied with so much anguish. "I really, really should. Nothing good could ever come from this. I cannot be the one who will destroy you, Bella."

I put my hands on either side of his face and tilted his head up. "That's funny," I said, staring down on his eyes. "Charlie pretty much said the same thing earlier." He regarded me under hooded eyes for a few seconds, and then seemed to have pulled himself together in an instant.

"I bought you a present," he smiled warmly.

"A present?" I was staggered. Nobody had ever bought me a present without some reason like a birthday or Christmas; and it had only been Charlie who bought me sensible presents, things he knew I needed.

A genuine smile broke from my face. "What is it?" I sounded like an impetuous child but I was too excited to care.

"Come and see," he took my hand, amused by my exuberance.

I followed him into the house and he pointed up the stairs. "I put them in your room—go have a look."

I flew up the stairs, more excited than I'd ever been in my entire life. I was dying to know what it was and couldn't even hazard a guess.

On my bed were parcels and bags in different shapes. I don't even know how he was able to bring the stuff back to the house. Wide-eyed, I began to open them as my astonishment grew deeper. He had bought me clothes—a brand new wardrobe and shoes—a beautiful dress whose exquisite simplicity took my breath away. It was green, the size was perfect; it was simple in cut that would hug my subtle curves in ways my oversized shirts never could. It fell just past my knees in a dreamy swirl of fabric with a thin black belt adorned by a gold simple buckle. It came paired up with a pair of gold shoes that looked as comfortable as a pair of slippers.

I was so stunned to even try all the clothes on. I merely sat at the end of the bed and stared at them all.

After some time, I heard his footsteps on the stairs. I'd not closed my bedroom door and in just a moment he was in the doorway, watching me with guarded, enquiring eyes.

"You don't like them?"

"They're…beautiful," I said wistfully.

"But?"

I slowly turned to look at him and reddened predictably. "I can't take them, Edward. They must've cost you a fortune."

He took a long harsh breath and moved to the window and leaned with his back against the sill.

"It's the least thing I could do, Bella. Besides, you needed a dress for the dance."

I shook my head. "I'm not going to the dance, Edward. I already told Sam I wasn't going."

"I'm taking you," he said flatly.

I stared at him.

I couldn't imagine him at a townie dance. Although I'd never been to one, I wasn't that much of social introvert to know it wouldn't be his scene. He was too used to more sophisticated places, more sophisticated people. Edward did not belong in this sleepy place.

His eyes narrowed as he watched the reflections move across my face.

"Don't you want me to take you?"

"Why would you want to?"

He just shrugged.

"I thought you said you weren't here to amuse children," I said with a challenge.

He walked slowly until he was directly in front of me.

"I wanted you to know the difference about being a girl and being a woman. You keep insisting that you are still the former but I can guarantee that when you walk into that dance, people will see you for who you are—and not the gypsy child that you want everyone to see."

"Oh, is this going to be another lesson from the pages of the book of Edward?"

His brows jerked together. "Another?"

My eyes met his coolly. "I've already had some sessions from your 'tutorials', Edward."

Maddeningly, he had the gall to smile.

"Careful," he warned. "You wouldn't want 'daddy dearest' to know that his little girl has suddenly developed a sharp tongue." His sarcastic smile faded into distaste. "You're changing." He muttered, almost to himself.

There was some emotion fermenting inside me. I could almost agree with him that a change was happening. I was, and I knew it. I could feel it in every nerve, every pore. The courage almost felt alien to me.

I couldn't understand where the inclination to provoke him was coming from.

"So are you coming or not?" he asked callously.

I managed to smile at him with false calmness. "Why not?" I said, goading him. "Sam will be happy if I show up."

He backed me up against the wall; we were so close that the tip of his nose touched mine. He was furious.

_Kiss me,_ my brain yelled.

"You're going with me, not Sam," he said forcefully. Then he turned, walked out and slammed the door loudly.

I was a house of cards; uselessly scattered all over the floor.

It felt funny; like I was waking up from a long sleep. I was watching a dichotomy of myself, one guarded and scared; the other braced for anything.

And it made me wonder, which version of myself will be left and he's gone?


	7. Chapter 7 Pretender

**Twilight is not mine. I wish Dave Grohl is though.**

**A/N: Hello. Thanks for the reviews! Here's another chapter. I hope to add another two next weekend. Annnnniiiiiiiieeeeee!**

"**In time our soul untold**

**I'm just another soul for sale, oh well.**

**The page is out of print**

**We are not permanent.**

**We're temporary, temporary**

**Same old story."**

**Pretender, Foo Fighters**

**Chapter 7 - Pretender**

During the next two days, Edward and I amused ourselves around the house. He did housework with me and was very obliging with my inane questions—which left him shaking his head most of the time and mumbling incoherent words that only he could understand. He called me ridiculous and sweet. He was friendly, teasing and approachable half the time and was a grump on the other half. There was warmth and freedom in our relationship…or whatever it was we were having. He spoke of faraway places, where he'd been and people he'd met but he never spoke of his family. I don't know what it was that tied my tongue. Where I asked about New York, Athens, or Sydney when I should've asked about a place somewhere closer to home—Seattle from what I could remember he was from.

The closest I got to broach the subject was when I teased him about being a sailor.

"A wife in every port to keep the loneliness at bay," I smiled up at him.

But he didn't bite.

He took amusement on all the things about me; the spray of freckles on my face; my aversion towards wearing shoes and my fond of reading dark, romantic novels.

He was well spoken, visceral almost when he'd described the beauty of Greece or the Parisian market when the streets were wet with rain. His sense of beauty was as strong as Charlie's but warmer, less remote. He found humor in odd places and tolerance with country living.

But when we were alone, the cackle of electricity between us was hard to ignore. It was a constant fight within me not to touch and deny the sensations that he aroused in me.

There were at least clues about his personality.

Edward has a jealous streak in him.

I talked about Sam a lot; not because I liked him in a way that a girl liked a boy but because he was just a likable person in general. But Edward didn't see it that way. His feature would darken and his lips would pursed every time I mentioned Sam. If I didn't know myself well, I'd say I've suddenly developed some cruel pettiness in the way I goaded Edward. It was fascinating to watch his eyes narrow and the way the tic on his jaw would dance to the tune of his unjustifiable jealousy.

He was very private and not very accommodating to personal questions.

"Have you ever thought about your biological parents?" Edward asked that night as we strolled along lazily on our way to the falls.

I shrugged, indifferent. "What would be the point?"

"Well, for one, it would be nice to know why they left you with the nuns," he said as he took my hand and helped me up over the rocks.

The sound of the crashing water got louder as we got closer. It didn't take long until we were on the bank where the foam kissed the edges of the weeds interspersed with rocks.

"I figured if they didn't love me enough to find me for themselves, then why should I bother?" I reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it up and over my head. I'd gotten comfortable with him being around and have learned to count on his company. After the emptiness of my childhood, the remoteness of Charlie, I'd blossomed under Edward's influence. It was like a dam had opened up inside me; I couldn't seem to stop asking questions and couldn't stop telling tales, stories of my childhood that prompted Edward's line of questioning. I'd mentioned growing up in Italy until I was five years old.

"I just—" he started and stopped when he saw me down to my bras and panties. "Do you own any bathing suits at all?" The expression on his face was that of part distaste, part…hunger?

I left his question unanswered and dove into the clear, cool water. The summer weather continued, where the nights turned muggy and warm. Charlie, for the most part remained quiet but watchful all the same. Every night, he vanished in his studio after supper which left Edward and I on our own devices.

We played gin rummy for several hours before I got tired of losing. I suspected him of cheating and called him out on it.

He smirked and just said, "Prove it,"

"Do you always want to win?" I asked haughtily; in which he proceeded to give me that look that made me queasy for some reason.

"So much," he answered huskily.

Sometimes, he would look at me with so much emotion that I wanted to get inside his head to see what he was thinking. It seemed like he was in a fight within himself; an on-going debate where he'd always ended up the loser.

After two more rounds where I suffered humiliating losses, I suggested, though half-heartedly, that we go for a swim. To my surprise, he agreed. I was a little iffy about my invitation; the last time we were there didn't really leave much to be desired. But then again encounters with Edward that start on a good note tends to go sour fast, depending on whatever kind of mood he was in. It felt much like walking on a minefield, if I'm lucky, I get to stay in one piece by the time he was through with me.

My head bobbed above the water, shaking the wet hair off my face.

"I just think it's pointless. I mean, obviously they never wanted me."

I looked to where Edward stood and found it empty.

"Edward?"

His white shirt lay on the grass abandoned; visible even in the darkness. I swung left—right—and couldn't find him anywhere around the water. He must've followed me down but I didn't hear any splash.

My pulse started to jump…_what if he drowned?_

"Edward?" I called out; and was answered by a cacophony of night sounds that didn't include his voice.

I swam under, using the moon as my guiding light. I kept swimming for minutes until my chest started to constrict. I emerged above the water—shivering from frayed nerves.

"Edward?" My voice trembled and bounced against the rock formations…and still got no response. I dove further out until I was closer to the falling water. I couldn't see anything; the mist blanketed everything in front of me.

"Edward!" I yelled and coughed up some water I'd swallowed. I crept closer to the falls where the water was chest deep, nearly blinded by the crashing deluge. My breaths came faster, my heart in my throat. I couldn't say how long I stood there, tears threatened to come and still no sign of Edward.

I practically jumped out of my skin when I was pulled behind the curtain of water. I screamed in vain as Edward's familiar hand clamped over my mouth.

His laughter rang in my ear, utterly amused at the terror on my face.

I twisted my body around and started hitting him with my feeble fists.

"You're evil!" I yelled and splashed out of his reach.

But he was more agile and faster that he was able to easily grab at me again. He pulled me against his chest, stilling my thrashing body into submission.

"I'm sorry," he said with false sincerity. "I was just trying to get back at you from the last time we were here."

He kissed me below the ear, sending trickles of electricity up and down my spine. The chuckles died, replaced by the sounds of his lips kissing my neck.

"Forgive me?" he asked hoarsely. His hand sneaked up and tilted my head to one side just enough that he could nibble on my ear lobe. His tongue snuck out and licked a pathway back down to my shoulders.

Exhausted from fear, I sighed and laced my fingers with his.

"I thought you drowned," I whimpered.

"Hmm?"

His fingers deftly unhooked the clasps of my bra; freeing my breasts from their binds. Any self-respecting seventeen year old would hide them from his eyes but I couldn't find it in me; that bashful side turned to a craving, wanting mess as soon as touched me.

I watched the bra the float away in front of me.

His hands cupped my breasts from behind, testing and kneading expertly. All I could do was arch my back until his hands were full of my soft flesh and pebbled nipples.

I moaned and closed my eyes.

He turned me around; chest to chest and without an inch of space between us. Buoyed by the water, my legs wrapped around his waist which brought us even closer. I was not at all shocked when I was met with his growing hardness.

"Little girl, you're asking for trouble," I answered him with a kiss. His lips were soft and pliant under mine. There were so many things going through my mind; not one of which was stopping. I'd give in to whatever he wanted; even crossing _that_ line. I was but some clay, pliable and supple in his oddly warm hands.

His tongue swirled inside my mouth while his hands roved on my back. I couldn't get close enough and the instinct to rub the ache somewhere around my centre was too much. His hand slid down my slick body and stopped at the bands of my underwear.

I ground my hips against his, earning a groan so deep that I felt the vibrations from somewhere deep inside of me—inside that part where the ache was unbearable and the need for _something _was insatiable. I've turned into voracious fiend that only Edward could feed. I had no clue what I wanted, only that Edward was the only one who could give me what I want.

_And what are you going to do when he's gone?_ I withered inside; I felt the first real pain of a bitter loss of love. Not familial but of something else.

It was like a bucket of ice was dumped over my heated body.

I broke away from him; cold and shivering on the outside but boiling and melting from the inside. Until he literally crashed into my life, I'd been but a blithe, useless existence; floating through life on wings of endless insipid days.

"What's wrong?" he tried to wade closer.

I turned my back on him and plunged under the cascading water.

Probably needing some time to cool off, he didn't follow me right away.

I stopped in the middle of the pool of water and submerged myself until I was neck-deep.

When he finally appeared, the teasing smile was gone from his mouth.

I opened my mouth to apologize but the look on his face stopped me cold. He stared at me through narrowed eyes, icy and cruel as I'd never seen him before. I was out of my depths; I knew that since I've met him. I understood him in a way that I understood my own father—that their tempers could flare without provocations. But Edward was different; he could hurt me more deeply than my father ever could.

"Have you told Charlie about the dance?" His wintry tone broke the tension of the moment but didn't make it disappear any less.

I shook my head.

His mouth quirked at the edges, wry humor on his face.

"I told him yesterday," he said as he moved in closer.

"What did he say?" I held my breath. I really wanted to go to the dance; to show up in Edward's arms and be the envy of everyone if only for just a night.

"How did you think he reacted?"

"Anywhere from going berserk to ambiguity but you're still here so I'm thinking he didn't care either way."

"He was noncommittal," he shrugged. "We had quite a talk after you'd gone to bed, though."

"Oh?"

His eyes still held the coldness of the arctic sea. "He had plenty to say about the innocence of his daughter," he scooped up a handful of water and splashed it on his face and hair. "But I taught him a thing or two about how to protect her." He glided with the gracefulness of an aquatic animal and was standing in front of me in an instant. "Obviously, he didn't care for my advise nor did he take them to heart," he pulled on my crossed arms that protected and hid my breasts. "Otherwise, I'd been gone that same night and I wouldn't be here with you."

I took a deep breath and convinced myself that it was the right time to bring up the subject which he expertly avoided.

"Why do you not talk about home, Edward?" and just like that, he fizzled like a dying roman candle.

He was out of the water so fast I thought he'd created a whirlpool in the water.

And without a backward glance he disappeared into the night.

**~oo00oo~**

The Saturday was as fine and warm as the previous days. Edward avoided me for most of the day and had only spoken when he asked if I still wanted to go to the dance.

I said yes and did my best to stay out of his way.

As I got ready for the night, I thought about how life was different when there was just Charlie & I; when Edward hadn't invaded our lives. I had been wrenched out of childhood by a series of shocking experiences that culminated into the night before, when I was ready to give him all had it not been for my fear of the inevitable.

After a lifetime of sheltered emptiness I had been invaded by emotions that I was too young to handle but was intelligent enough to discern it.

Charlie knew a change was happening. It was obvious in the way he watched me. Those eyes had never trained on me like I was one of his subjects; scrutinizing with his mind and reading something that he knew was there. I was not merely a person who lived with him in his house anymore; but a fully grown woman who was his own daughter—blood relation or not.

When I was finally done, I came downstairs with a stomach full of butterflies.

For a second or two, I just stood in the hallway, trembling in my unfamiliar clothes. I cleared my throat and both of them turned to look at me.

Edward looked delectable in his slacks and crisp button down Oxford shirt; totally unlike himself. My heart turned over at how beautiful he looked.

Then I glanced at Charlie quickly, and found the angry set in his jaw. I debated going back in my bedroom and forgo going to the dance entirely. The alarm on my face must've been clear that Edward sidled up beside me in an instant.

"You look beautiful," he took my arm and moved me away from the hallway. His green eyes ran over me lightly, from my brushed, tamed hair bound by a green silk ribbon, to my golden slippers. My face was bare of make-up but for a light dusting of powder.

He didn't give me a chance to say anything. He simply took my arm and called out to Charlie.

"Good night, Charlie."

He didn't answer back.

When we walked out of the house, the shadowy evening felt nice and comfortable. There was no heaviness in the air that had been a staple in the summer temperature that we've been having.

"We have to walk far," I looked up at him shyly. "It's a good thing you bought me comfortable shoes."

"We're not walking," he said casually. "I rented a car when I was in town. It should be waiting for us not too far from here."

I looked at him in surprise. "Oh! It's been a while since I've ridden in a car!" He laughed at my enthusiasm.

There was nothing flashy about it, a non-descript blue sedan that looked new based on the reflective shine on its body.

I felt very odd as I climbed into the clean interior; it smelled faintly of pine and gasoline.

"Did you get Sam to help you with this car?" It was clearly the wrong thing to say because the smile slipped from his lips.

"Let's get something out of the way here, Isabella."

I didn't like it when he used my full name. It reminded me of getting in trouble with the nuns and occasionally with Charlie.

"I am bringing you to the dance. You are going with _me_. At no point of this night will be dancing with anyone but me." And if his intention wasn't driven hard enough, he held my chin in his hand and glared at me with green fire.

"Do you understand?"

I shook his hand off me and glared back at him, nodding in reluctant acquiescence.

The drive down was quiet. I stared outside the window and ignored him for the most part. It wasn't that I was raring to dance with Sam; it was the fact that he was controlling in the most maddening way.

_As if he could stop me anyway, _I scoffed.

_Or Sam for that matter. _

The parking lot was full when Edward pulled up. There was some people milling around and some were out having a smoke.

I rejected his hand when he offered to help me out of the car. If I looked like an ill-tempered child, then so be it. I refused to be told what to do; a trait that would've been laughable a week ago. But that was before—before I'd met him. Before I'd suddenly developed this need to show some backbone.

…or maybe the thought of making up with him thrilled me to no end; that I would purposely spur his anger just because.

The hall was crowded when we walked in. Our arrival caused a good deal of excitement to my chagrin. Everyone knew who I was on sight but few were brave enough to come any closer and talk. It was like a hush settled over the crowd. Some people nodded at Edward, perhaps they saw him in town and women gave him brazen looks that were too forward to my liking.

Forgetting that we were in a fight, I slithered close to him.

It wasn't too long until Sam spotted us. He caught sight of me and his face reddened. I smiled at him shyly as he made his through the throng of people.

I felt so free, so brave and unlike myself in the green dress.

Sam came towards us purposefully, while his eyes were wary as they settled on Edward. But before he could reach us, the music turned up and Edward twisted me in another direction…apparently towards the dance floor.

I looked up at him, startled. "I can't dance, Edward."

"I'll lead," he mumbled then proceeded to pull, push, spin and twist me anyway he wanted to.

It was ridiculous.

I stared at my feet the whole time; terrified that I'd scuffed up his shoes or worst, step on his toes. I was the most uncoordinated person in the universe but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, his face was flushed pink from the pleasure of seeing me make a fool of myself.

"Keep your head up," he told me. "If you can walk gracefully, then you'd certainly have no problem dancing." He yelled above the music.

"Shhh…I'm counting." I shushed him.

He laughed. "You look like a five year old learning how to read," he said in a teasing tone.

I wrinkled my nose and pretended to be annoyed.

He lowered his head and pecked the tip of my nose. "Now you look like a bunny rabbit. Stop wrinkling your nose!"

I grinned pleasurably as we continued to make a spectacle of ourselves.

"I'm getting tired!" I yelled a few minutes later as I was spun in and out of his arms. I didn't know what kind of music they had on but judging by the sparse amount of young people on the floor, I'd say it was pretty old.

"Edward!" He kept on dancing. Everyone stared; either in awe or sheer amusement.

"I'm thirsty!" I tried again over the din of the pounding music.

He laughed and took my hand, finally ending my mortification.

"I thought you said you were only twenty seven?" I said, gasping.

"Yeah, I am. Want to see my driver's license?" he started to reach at the back of his pants.

"No," I wobbled towards the table where the drinks were located. "But how old exactly was that music?"

"It wasn't that old, Bella." He colored and grabbed a plastic cup from the dispenser. "You're right. The music is quite old," he said as he handed me a fruity concoction in a cup. "I learned the dance from my mother."

It was the first time he'd referred to his life. I waited for more but that was all I got.

It was a start.

The music changed into something slower. Without a word, he took the cup from me and led me back to the dance floor again. His warmth surrounded me like a cloak on a chilly night; relaxing me to the point of unconscious oblivion. His hands were like permanent brands, imprinted on parts of me that he'd touched. I didn't care that the people around us whispered and gossiped about us. I didn't care that how we acted was, to their eyes, improper. All I cared about was that I was in his arms.

The music ended all too soon and we talked and laughed and ate dainties. It took Sam a bit more time to find us. I could tell he was a little miffed at Edward; judging by the glower that he gave him. He didn't even ask me to dance; he just took my hand and escorted me away. I looked back at Edward and saw that he was watching with a fierce scowl, but he looked quickly away when he saw me looking.

"Do you know what you're doing, Bella?" Sam asked roughly, staring down at my face like a man on the verge of a temper tantrum. "He's way too old for you…and where did you get that dress?...what's happening to you?"

"Sam, don't talk. You wanted to dance with me, so here I am…dancing with you."

He relaxed a little. It wasn't as easy dancing with Sam; he wasn't as graceful and lithe as Edward. He tended to lead me with jerky movements that I had to hold myself steady a couple of times or else I'd been dusting myself off the floor. It was comical and he knew it. We laughed at our awkward dancing that probably looked more like two bulls in a china shop.

I danced a couple of more times with Sam before I was asked by the local boys to dance. It was like a swarm of nameless teen-aged boys suddenly took notice of me. I was flushed, surprised and oddly excited that Edward was right. They all saw me differently. Before I could say yes to the next boy, Edward came up behind me and curved his hand on my waist in a gesture that told everyone to, 'back off'.

"Gentlemen, she's my date," he said lightly. "If you'll excuse us…" he smiled politely with that usual aggressive hardness I've come to know. The poor boys got the hint and backed off one by one with slumped shoulders.

My heart flew. I tried to pretend that I had not heard him say I was his date. But who was I kidding? It was a delirium I'd never experienced before. I wanted to jump and twirl and shout.

He led me to another slow dance and I didn't hesitate to entwine myself with him. He held my hand on his chest while his lips moved against my forehead. He murmured things that I couldn't hear nor could I care what they were. I was happy, sated, coddled—just—where I wanted to be.

I opened my eyes to find Sam across the floor from us; tensed as his jaw clenched with subdued hostility. The night went on like that; I'd see him angry but would not approach to tell me what his problem was. And though I had an inclination, the tension began to take its toll on me.

When I finally got up to ask him to back off, his voice came with a morose warning.

"Be careful, Bella," he threw icy daggers at someone behind me. I've got a good guess that it was directed at Edward. "He's out of your league and you know it. He's just amusing himself with you."

I felt the chilliness seep through my bloodstream as his words sank into my mind. Deep down, no matter how many times I'd seen the seething desire on his face as he looked at me, I knew I was just someone fleeting in his life. But I wouldn't let Sam see how much the thought of Edward being gone terrified me.

"Has it ever occurred to you that _I _might be amusing myself?" I flung the words at him.

Sam's surprised look was priceless. I left him on the dance floor and flauntingly cuddled close to Edward.

"Had enough yet?" His arms wrapped around my waist and kissed my hair.

My legs ached from too much dancing.

My stomach was a mess from too much sweets and too much punch.

My heart hadn't settled down to a calm disjointed beats.

Though I knew it wasn't from happiness. My time with Edward will come to an end and I'd be left knowing what heaven was like and forever be searching aimlessly for that feeling again.


	8. Chapter 8 Earth to Bella

**I do not own Twilight. **

**A/N: This update was supposed to go up on Friday but I have to give you guys a sense of...er, separation. In other words, Chapter 9 will be up this weekend to tie up Chapter 8 :) Hey Annie! **

"**Earth to Bella,**

**You think you've got it all figured out.**

**Earth to Bella,**

**Everything you know is wrong.**

**Well, almost."**

**- Earth to Bella, Incubus**

**Chapter 8 – Earth to Bella**

"Did you have fun?" he asked as we entered the house. The drive home was a quiet one. I was too tired to make small talk and Edward was too jumpy for some odd reason. I sat in the car twisting my hands on my lap, hopelessly trying and failing to calm my nerves. I was ecstatic to see the outline of the house in the distance and just about jumped out of the car to get away from the tension.

"It was—surreal," I said, as I pushed the door open.

"Why do you say that?" He flopped down on the couch and started to unbutton his shirt. I wanted to look away; but his fingers were hypnotizing.

"The music was loud and my feet hurt," I sat down across from him, wary of the way he fidgeted with suppressed energy. "I hate wearing shoes."

"So, in other words, you hated it?"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry," I frowned and realized I sounded like spoiled brat.

"After all the trouble you went on my behalf—I'm so ungrateful."

"What was Sam saying to you?" He looked at me expressionlessly, dismissing my apologies.

I met his blank and serious eyes. "He was warning me about you."

His eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"

I watched him carefully. "I told him that if I were having fun, why should it bother him?" I smiled brightly; my lips trembled with the fakeness of it all. "Anyway, I really did enjoy the night, Edward." I stood and gathered up my shoes. "Thanks again."

And then we'd fallen into silence. His knees jerked and shook as he pulled on his hair with brutal deliberation. I watched him do this for minutes until even my fascination with his masculine beauty wasn't enough to hold me in that chair.

I left without giving him a backward glance.

I got undressed and got ready for bed. The dress was truly nice and got complimented for it the whole night. But it felt good to be out of it. I almost sighed with relief as I put my regular sleeping attire of oversized shirt and cotton shorts.

I sat on my bed feeling restless and overheated. There was no reprieve from the heat, even at night. The air was still and too eerily quiet. My head hurt from the lights and noise of the dance hall and my heart ached as thoughts of Edward intruded my already chaotic disposition. Was I too blind to see what they were warning me about? Or was I just too far gone to listen? The thoughts were ringing loudly in my head until they become impossible to ignore.

A few faint sounds came from his room and then a few minutes later, the house was silent.

I got up from the bed, making as little noise as possible and collected a large towel from the linen closet.

I had to get out of the house; I felt like I was suffocating. I let myself out the door, in the hopes that a swim would clear the dense fog that had weigh me down.

Just like old times, I got undressed without hesitation and stood there for a moment; savoring the cool mist of the water and the light breeze that tickled the hair on my skin. It felt good. I felt free. I wanted to spread my arms and let the water wash the worries away. The sensation of that coolness was sheer heaven on my overheated skin. The moonlight rippling on the water was sublime; the air was languorous, almost tropical in its warmth.

A rustle behind the trees startled me awake.

I turned my naked body and found myself looking into Edward's moonlit face.

For a moment, I couldn't move—couldn't speak. I stared as he stared. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. His face was carved into strange hollows and shadows that made him looked wicked—scary, even. His eyes were brilliant spheres of fire bespeaking of raw yearning.

Then I woke up from the Edward-induced slumber and realized that I was completely naked, standing on a slate of rock as if I were Eve.

I tried to cover up my nakedness with my arms but it was too late. "Edward, go way, please…" I begged.

He didn't reply; didn't make a sound. He simply moved closer until it was too late to flee. He stood before me, completely clothed with naked desire in his eyes. I waited for the shame to set in, but it never came.

His hands grabbed my hips, jerking me forward until his jeans scraped my front and the buttons of his shirt dug in my skin. I became aware of one thing…this time neither of us was going to stop.

His fingers flew to the front of his shirt, trembling as button upon button came undone. His jeans came off next. It was funny. As soon as I saw his naked chest, my fingers stopped shaking, my timid resolve evaporated. I wanted to see his full bareness, wanted to feel all of him.

He pulled me down on the cool, flat surface of the rock and cradled me in his arms. I was a marionette doll, manipulated by his strings. His eyes were moving fiercely all over me; it was as if he couldn't decide which part of me he wanted to devour first. For a single moment, there was a spark of consciousness that wanted to say no. That what we were about to do was wrong. But I couldn't find my voice, didn't make a sound except when I let out a sigh as his fingers slid down in between my breasts.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered thickly. His head lowered unto mine and kissed the skin below my ear. "Bella, my God, Bella, I want you so much I'm going out of my mind…" He was a tortured soul in need of saving.

The words burnt on my skin sending a rack of shivers from the bottom of my spine, to base of my neck.

My pulse beat in a wild, deafening clamor roaring in my ears.

He raised his head and breathed in heavily. The moonlight no longer hid the expression in his eyes. Fierce, uninhibited want.

"You—you shouldn't have followed me." I forced the words out of my mouth, which made them sound thready and barely audible.

"I couldn't," he closed his eyes briefly. "I couldn't." The dark mask of his face tightened. "I had to see you," he had a far-away look in his eyes as they glided over my shoulders, my breasts. "I can't help myself, Bella."

"Oh Edward," I murmured shakily. I buried my face below his chin, inhaling his musky scent. His heartbeat was choppy, accelerated in a speed mirroring mine.

"God knows, I never meant to go this far," he sighed against my hair. "I'm drowning, Bella, and I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do." He lifted my chin with his fingers and fixed his eyes unto mine. "All I am sure of is that I have to have you."

I was disturbed by the fervent way he spoke. I wanted to ask him why he chose me. Maybe everyone was wrong in their assumptions. Maybe he really wanted to be with me, and not for the obvious fact that I was a temporary distraction. Obvious to everyone but me.

"You are driving me crazy," he added with a force that shook me. And then his mouth came down on my parted lips hungrily, coaxing a response deep from the most docile part of me. I clamored for the feel of his skin, and dug my fingernails on his shoulders. Warning signals flared in my brain but they came and went, completely ignored.

Under his mouth I came alive, fully alive as the onslaught of violent need came over me…over us. He sucked at my bottom lip, nipping erotically. He wasn't gentle in the way he lavished my mouth, like he wanted to devour me until I no longer exist. His hands slid down to my breast and let out a guttural moan when he flicked my nipple. I arched closer to him; wanting more of what he would give, craving for what he would take.

My breath came in ragged spurts as his mouth left mine. My cries of protests died in my throat when his lips burned a trail down my neck. His teeth sank in the curve of my shoulder, marking me as his. I cried out, passionately—loudly that it sent the night birds flying from the trees.

Gentle kisses rained where his teeth has seared my skin followed by wet lavishing of his tongue. His glorious head inched down even further until his face hovered over my aching breasts. He leaned down and sucked one nipple into his mouth. No teasing. Hard and fast. His lips and tongue worked simultaneously in a pulling motion that brought my desires into a fever pitch. I want him. All of him. I want him buried and imprisoned inside me that he could never leave.

Edward's hips rocked forward as his mouth traveled back upwards. His fingers plunged into my hair and pulled to meet his mouth. I sighed against his lips and let myself melt into a hot puddle. This kiss was slow, hot and thorough. An ache built in earnest between my legs, as indescribable pleasure drove my legs to entwine around his hips.

"If you don't want this, now is the time to say so," he said.

"No, don't stop. Please."

Then his hands journeyed down to that part of my body where I was the hottest…the wettest.

He slipped a finger inside me…then two. He slid them back and forth as he continued to kiss me. I wanted to scream. I might've. I was overwhelmed with a storm of sensations all at once; pleasure, a bit of pain, and an all-consuming need to release the pressure building inside. Two…three…five strokes later, my body tightened and jerked, convulsing in an explosion of tumultuous orgasm. I may not be an expert, but I was educated enough to know what happens between a man and a woman. I lost the battle to remain silent and cried out vociferously as tremors racked my body.

I felt a gush of wetness between my legs, but Edward was not done. His lips continued to torment me with his mouth and his fingers, sucking one nipple and pinching the other. Unbelievably, I felt the slow trickle of tension build again.

Suddenly, Edward pulled away. And then he was just there. He moved his lips to capture mine in a breathless kiss.

"Are you sure about this?" he whispered. I nodded minutely. "Okay then, just relax, okay? And stop me if it hurts." He stroked my flushed cheek with his fingers, moist and smelled faintly of my arousal.

And I knew what was coming. Craved it. Wanted it.

He nudged my entrance with careful deliberation and then in one push slid all the way in. My eyes flew open at the sudden pain, sudden fullness but I couldn't say no even if I wanted to. It was too late. But I would not go back to this moment with regrets. Days and years later, I'd forever treasure it.

He remained still for a moment as my body adjusted to his incursion. He was big; I could tell for the only reason that he wasn't all the way in. And then I wondered how he could've fit.

"I—I can't hold on anymore," he rasped. His face, though shadowed, showed an immense picture of slipping restraint. Pain mixed with pleasure. I gripped his head and yanked him down to my mouth. He surged forward, more powerfully than before. Tears slid down from the corner of my eyes. But his mouth swallowed my cries of pain while mine swallowed his cries of passion. He held me tightly as he began thrusting between my legs.

He wasn't tender at all. He kept thrusting like the devil was after him.

"Oh!" I exclaimed. He was fully buried in me. But it was as if he couldn't get close enough. It got to a point where he stopped entirely and then barely moved into a rigorous motion of small pumps that didn't disconnect our bodies. And then I wanted more. I needed more and craved the pain of his violent thrusts.

"Am I hurting you?" he gritted out.

"God…no. Don't stop," I lied. The truth was that the pain he inflicted made me feel whole even if he was taking another slice of my existence.

My words pushed him over the edge.

His hand crawled down to my leg, hitching it around his lower back. Like a man possessed, he began tunneling into me. The sound of his grunts, the slapping of our flesh, my uninhibited moans, became one with the soundtrack of the night.

Edward's mouth closed over my nipple once more and grazed the tip with his teeth. Then he sucked it into his mouth with more gusto than usual. The soreness aided in my forthcoming release. I lost myself. I couldn't think and could only react. His forceful plunges became more urgent, until he shook and trembled on top of me. He tightened between my legs, gripping my hip until I swore his fingers would break my skin.

It was too late to stop the hot jets of his release flooding inside my body.

But I was deaf to all reasons and basic faculties, my eyes blind with aroused need.

"I love you," I whispered.

And then his body stiffened on top of mine. But I didn't care. It was the first time I'd known it and had ever vocalized in my entire life, not even to Charlie or my dead mother. The meaning of those three words was clear in my shivering voice.

He made a wild sound, smothered and tortured and full of regrets.

**~oo00oo~**

I opened my eyes the next morning to an overcast sky and the air heavy with rain. I lay there savoring the physical ache of what happened to me the previous night. I rolled over and buried my face on the pillow—how could I ever face Edward again? I debated staying in bed the whole day so I won't have to blush every time I see him.

I sighed and looked at the clock. It was past ten in the morning, literally half the day was gone. When I couldn't delay the inevitable any longer, I got up slowly and dressed. With a feverish sense of dread, I left my bedroom and went straight to the kitchen.

There was no sign of Edward; the lone occupant was Charlie. A harrowing hollowed face Charlie. He looked ill. He looked up dejectedly with sad eyes that left me cold.

"Come in here, Bella," he beckoned gently. His tone took me by surprise. I came slowly into the kitchen; dread tumbling in my stomach like acid in a blender.

"Are you feeling okay, Dad?" I managed to croak out.

"No," he said, his mouth barely moved. "Sit down, child."

I looked at him again, briefly, then obediently sat down on a chair.

"Edward left," he uttered quietly.

For a moment I thought I misheard. My eyes flew to his austere face, searching for any sign that it was a cruel joke.

My lips trembled. "Wh-what did you say?"

He watched me with a strained expression.

"Bella, I've failed you miserably as a father, but now I need you to listen to me and try to understand what I'm going to say."

But I barely heard it all. My whole being was intent on the first thing that he'd told me. "Did you say Edward is gone?" This time, I said the words clearly and held the trembling in check.

"He had to, Bella," he started to reach for my hand but I hid them under the table. His hands curled into fists instead. "I would have shot him dead if he didn't leave."

I stood up brusquely, toppling the chair I was sitting on. "He can't go," I was furious with Charlie. Wild with desperation, shaking with fear, I tried to make him understand. "He can't leave me…he said…he—I—you…how could you drive him away?"

"I didn't drive him away, Bella. He told me what happened between the two of you last night."

Oddly, I didn't feel the flushing of my cheeks. I was probably as white as a sheet.

"You shouldn't have made him go!" I yelled at him, my voice was filled with unrestraint fury. "I love him…and he said he was going to take me away from here…and now…"

He stood up and pulled me to his chest. I fought him off; my fists landed blows on his arms and shoulders. Years of frustration and loneliness came bursting out from me.

"How could you?" I screamed on his chest. "He was the only person who'd ever made me happy."

"He's a selfish bastard who took advantage of you, child. Don't waste your tears on him." I didn't realize I was crying until my sobs were louder than my screams.

"Listen to me, Bella," he held me away and stared down on my face. "Stop this nonsense right this minute and listen to me!" but I couldn't be pacified. I sobbed and coughed and hiccupped until I was breathless. I tried and tried to break free from him so I could try and follow Edward. But Charlie refused to let me go. I kept thinking that if I could get to Sam and asked him for a ride to the bus stop then maybe I had a fighting chance of locating Edward.

"No, you are not following Edward!" Charlie yelled. I was so out of my mind that I didn't realize I was thinking out loud. "You don't even know where he lives."

"I could find his family. His last name is Masen, there's got to be a way." I cried desperately. "I love him, Dad. Please…you have to help me. I love him."

"Bella—"

"No! Dad. I have to go to him. He said he was going to help me! He said there was a world out there that's better than this!"

"Bella—"

"He was going to help me find a job and—"

"Bella—"

"And who knows, maybe he'd love me too and we could—"

"He's married, Bella."

The blow of those words seemed to have severed the line that enabled me to breathe. All the fight I have left dissipated along with the hopes that I would ever see him again. With an agonizing sob, I crumbled on my feet in a heap of broken spirit, broken dreams and broken heart.

"I know you probably don't want to hear anymore about this sordid affair," Charlie spoke contemptuously. "But there are things that you should know about him." He picked me up from the floor and sat me back on the chair. "He at least had the decency to ask me to take care of you."

I've never known this caring side of Charlie; this show of tenderness was unheard of in our house. But I couldn't even savor it. I was lost in a black hole of grief. I don't know when it was that I stopped screaming. I just whimpered like an injured animal with tears flowing freely from my eyes.

For the second time in my life, I've admonished the God who tempted the weak. How could you do this to me?

"He was afraid you would do something terrible when you heard he'd gone, but I know you're level-headed, Belle…" Charlie was saying somewhere in the distant room. I couldn't stand the pain any longer. I wanted to hurl angry words at this man. Edward was right. My father didn't care enough to protect me from himself. He was too busy blaming me for the death of his wife that he neglected to acknowledge the fact that I exist in a fragile world where love was a glue that held it altogether.

I stood carefully up and was going to flee when his harsh voice rang out, in the belief that I was in denial.

"Bella," he held on to my arm, impeding my departure. "He's not worth it, child. It isn't the end of the world." His face screwed up sourly. "It's my fault. I trusted him and he did this to you…he admitted that he was married and that things were bad at home. I can't remember what else he said. I just—I told him to get the hell out of our house."

I was out of the house in an instant.

I just wanted to escape. It may be wrong, but some part of me believed that Charlie was laughing at me and that this was my fault because I was stupid enough to fall for a selfish, coward man.

It hurts. Everything hurts.

I never wanted to think again.

I never wanted to feel the shame and guilt.

I wanted this pain to end.

I ran until I was breathless, until my lungs threatened to explode. I was back in the scene of the crime; the place that held witness to my carelessness and stupidity. I climbed to its highest point, so fast that I slipped twice on the wet rocks. I had gashes and bruises all over me but the pain was nothing compared to the one he inflicted.

If I jump, would I die? And would he care if I did?

The peak was at ten feet and the depth of the water was eight—nine the most. I couldn't remember what was at the bottom. And in the darkest niche of my mind, I'd hoped it was all rocks, sharp edged rocks to kill me in an instant; because anything else was better than this life that I was cursed with. Unloved by those who were supposed to love me, abandoned by those who gave me a taste of what it was like to love. The sky opened up and the rain started to fall. What a perfect day to die.

Charlie caught up with me among the boulders; I'd not reached the top yet. My hands couldn't find a stable purchase for me to climb on. I slipped time and time again. Why didn't I just let myself fall? Why do I need the cushion of the water to break my fall? I could just let go and break my head open and the hurting would stop.

"Bella, for God's sake!" he gasped and went down on his knees. "Please don't do this!" He was sobbing. The words garbled tremulously in a miserable fashion.

Then I realized, we were both crying. The tears were falling endlessly out of my glazed eyes. I just thought the rain was giving me a hazy vision.

I finally reached the top, shivering violently as I fall in a limp huddle. I struggled to get up as I hobbled to the edge of the falls.

I didn't look down to where Charlie crouched on the bank near the water. My thin shirt was completely soaked, pinkened by a stream of blood that was gushing from a forehead wound. And then I looked at Charlie. His eyes filled with terror and pain; more feeling than I'd ever seen him. I was too young to remember the day when my mother died. I searched and searched my memory to compare his anguish. But I just. Could. Not. Remember.

"Please…" he whispered. His eyes pleaded tearfully.

I crept closer to the edge; adrift in my own insanity.

I gave him one last smile.

And then I jumped.

Charlie screamed.


	9. Chapter 9 Walking Wounded

**All characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer. The lyrics of Walking Wounded are owned by The Tea Party. **

**a/n: Hi! So sorry this is late. I've been held cooped up in a bunker, waiting for The Rapture that never happened. Anyone want some cans of creamed corn? I've got like a thousand of them. Seriously. **

**Annie was nagging me on Twitter. I'm probably going to get yelled at for being late. Harrrruuuummmpph.**

"**Are you comfortable and numb**

**Do they all succumb to all those lies**

**Does it satisfy the greed**

**Is it all you need? **

**Is it all you want?**

**Well baby I'm not that strong**

**And I'm walking wounded**

**All alone."**

**- Walking Wounded, The Tea Party**

**Chapter 9 – Walking Wounded**

I am dead.

I think I am. I don't feel anything, smell anything, and see anything except for a sea of white, bright, stark and blinding.

Loneliness and obscurity hums through me. Maybe this is hell, because I know a thing or two about it. I lived in it. Loneliness is hell.

But the greatest thing about being in this state is, I…don't…feel…a…thing. I try to move my hands, fingers—wiggle my toes…nothing. I am not hungry or thirsty. I'm just me.

I think this is heaven even if I don't believe in it. Someone up there is confused. I don't belong here but I want to stay here.

Please…don't make me go back.

I wait for the brightest white light to guide my way, or the angel of death.

Nothing.

Maybe they're next door. Maybe there's someone whose injuries are worst than mine.

He will come.

I close my eyes…darkness.

Yes. This is better.

So much better.

* * *

><p>A woman with the long brown hair sits beside my bed, stroking my face with such gentleness that it makes me want to cry. She looks familiar. I squint my eyes and try to remember where I've seen her before.<p>

The squinting hurts my head.

I close my eyes again.

Then it came to me, a flicker of sudden awareness and memory from a life that seems so far away.

A silver frame in Charlie's room.

I gasp. And choke. Her image becomes blurry in my eyes while the air in my lungs sputter helplessly.

What are they doing to me?

What is that noise? Someone turn it off!

I trash in my bed.

Don't go. Don't go. Don't leave.

The woman disappears before I can say her name.

"Mom?"

My words garble into an incomprehensible mess before being swallowed by a tube that's being shove down my throat.

Someone stabs me in the arm.

Instant, glorious relief.

Darkness swallows me again.

* * *

><p>Edward sits beside my bed, clutching his head upon his hands. He is rocking himself back and forth, forward and back. His mouth opens and nothing comes out.<p>

I want to yell. But I can't even speak. My throat is sore and feels congested.

"Edward…" I try to say, but it comes out in a wheeze.

He looks up, eyes wide and wet.

He starts to talk but all I hear is a deafening roar in my ears.

I close my eyes and attempt to calm myself. _Uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque…_

I find it weird that I'm counting in Italian.

I reach out to him with my bandaged arm.

He comes closer.

Closer.

Closer.

His handsome face is much closer now.

All my anger, all my resentment, all the hurt and humiliation comes out in a form of a slap in his face.

My hand hits nothing until it comes down on the metal bedrails.

I cry out; tears spurt from my eyes.

It hurts. My hand hurts. It's throbbing like a toothache, bathed in the sweetest vanilla ice cream.

"No…no…not again," I beg.

Someone stabs me in the arm.

Hello, darkness.

* * *

><p>Charlie is sobbing.<p>

We're in the dark now, the two of us. His breaths come in rhythmic hitches, full of grief and loneliness.

I want to hold his hand and tell him it's okay but I can't move at all. My stomach feels hollowed out, like someone scooped out everything inside.

Why can't I move?

I try to open my eyes, but they're so heavy—they don't hurt, they just won't open.

And then he starts to talk.

"Once—once upon a time," he begins. His baritone voice is oddly comforting even if it comes out dripping with hardship. "There was this beautiful woman. She lived in Italy with her parents. She's got long brown hair and the darkest eyes I've ever seen. Renata lived a sheltered life, protected in the safety of her parents' villa. One day, her school had a field trip and met this man. She was young, only seventeen when she met Charles. They fell helplessly in love. But it was doomed from the start for she was promised to marry a man named Raphael. But she couldn't love him," he stifles the sob in vain then continues on with his story.

"Charles and Renata met secretly and quickly realized that they cannot live without each other. So they concocted this plan to run away. Raphael found out about it and confronted Renata. She told him the truth, that she was irrevocably in love and that there was no way she would marry him. Raphael took the news gracefully, didn't even yell at her."

Is he telling this story to comfort me?

I feel his hand on mine, holding on for his dear life.

"One night, on her way home from visiting Guissepina, her best friend, she was stopped by a drunken Raphael. It was dark and they were alone. He—he—"

Charlie is sobbing loudly now. One of those gut wrenching, unstoppable torrent of sobs.

"He dragged her to the fields then beat her senseless. When she can no longer fight him off, he did the unthinkable—unforgivable. He forced her, over and over, again. When he was done he spat at her face and left her for dead. Oh God. I couldn't—I couldn't even recognize her face, Bella. Both her eyes were stitched shut; her olive skin was black from bruises. In spite of all that, she was still the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. She turned me away over and over again. She didn't want to see me. Her family wouldn't let me in the hospital so I waited. I haunted the hospital grounds and asked every day if she was going to let me see her. Every day I prayed; endless days of waiting and praying. Three weeks later, she was finally ready. She told me she didn't want to see me anymore; that I should go back to the States and I should forget about her.

"But I didn't give up, Bella. I told my parents that I was staying in Italy for good. I was going to wait for Renata until she's completely recovered. The physical injuries were easy, the psychological injuries, however, haunted her forever. Before I even had a chance, she disappeared. Gone. No trace. Her parents didn't know where she was. I lost my mind, Bella. I was in Italy as a student, I was barely getting by. When I've exhausted all my resources to find her, I gave up. I went home.

"Six years later, I was back in Washington; a corpse among the living. I've never gotten over her. I spent my time painting in the dark; wanting to die but couldn't bring myself to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger. She came knocking on my door with this little girl who looks just like her; long brown hair and dark eyes that see through everything."

He pauses for a minute, inhaling and exhaling a painful breath.

"Her eyes, your mother's eyes, looked empty—soulless. I knew something had changed inside her. When I tried to hug her, she backed away as if I disgusted her. As if I was the same person who ruined her. I couldn't stand it, didn't know how to help her. But I'll be damned if I'd let her go again. We got married a couple of weeks later but we weren't the same people anymore. We were two strangers living in the same house. I tried. I took her away, left you in the care of a couple that were good friends of mine. It was painful to see how much of her was destroyed, Bella. It wasn't even a shadow of what she used to be. The carefree, happy, kind person turned hard and spiteful who couldn't give two shits about anyone, let alone, you. She couldn't even look at you then without remembering how you came to be.

"One night, she borrowed the car. She said she had something to pick up somewhere. Those days, we don't bother asking each other questions, so I gave her the keys without premonition that she's about to do something stupid."

He takes my hand and grips hard as if he's trying to absorb whatever strength he can get from me.

"I am telling you this because I need you to understand. That if you will not survive this then there's nothing left for me. I will follow you and your mother without hesitation. And it's not because I'm trying to guilt trip you to stay but I just can't live with myself knowing that I did exactly what your mother did to you. She treated you like furniture; you're just there because you are. That you have no value in our lives. We were consumed with hatred, blinded by it that we didn't realize we were punishing you like you did something criminal and I am sorry—truly inadequate, I know—but it's all I have. And I promise you that I will not let anyone hurt you because no matter how who fathered you, you've always been my daughter. So please, I beg you, Bella, give me a second chance."

My bed shakes from his sobs.

And I want to comfort him but I just can't move. I try to open my eyes again but they're so heavy…so heavy.

**~ooOOoo~**

I was sick for months.

I could count the number of words I spoke during that period. Charlie wouldn't leave me alone. I don't blame him. Any day now I would wake up from this nightmare. I prayed to any god, even to the one that I hated for the punishment to end. Hatred burned inside me, for myself, for my father, for him. For myself because I was weak, for my father because he didn't care, for Edward…for obvious reasons.

Thirteen months, four days, 10 hours and twenty-two minutes. People count down the days for special occasions. I counted the days for that particular moment in my life when breathing didn't hurt as much.

People always tell you that life goes on after a tragedy happened in your life. Liars, the lot of them. Life certainly does not go on. How could it when the life you wanted died on that one tragic day that was forever burned in your head?

My attempt at suicide cost me a broken leg, broken arm, clotting in my brain, and several broken ribs. The doctors wondered how I'd ever survived considering all my injuries. I wanted to say that because some higher power was cruel; the same ones who'd thought I'd not suffered enough. Six months of recovery time and numerous therapy sessions later, I was able to walk again. What used to be shiny, waist-length hair was reduced to a lifeless bob that framed my haggard face. The silence that used to cloak the cottage grew more severe after that day. If the cottage was quiet pre-Edward, it became a tomb, post-Edward. I can't believe my life was categorized into two now; pre and post.

The worst part of this new lease on life that I'd been given is the ruthless knowledge about my past. My mother, out of utter disgust with my existence, ran away to have me and then left me at the doorstep of a convent. I don't exactly know how she was able to take me back when I was five years old but Charlie hinted that some kidnapping was involved.

How much more tragedies can one person take in her lot in life? In some ways, Charlie figured that Renee blamed him. That had she not met him, Raphael, the man that her parents trusted enough to marry wouldn't have brutalized her. The old me would find the romance in his rationalization and would readily disagree with him. The new me, the one whose rose colored glasses view in life was shattered into dust in one night, wouldn't be so quick to differ.

So my mother wasn't drinking. She really did kill herself.

I couldn't even begin to imagine the horrors that she went through; it certainly made me feel ashamed of myself for wanting to die when my mother's harrowing experience in the hands of a man was much more horrifying than mine. It certainly woke me up. Brooding and willing my life away because of a weak man was not how I want to keep on living. That doesn't mean that the perpetual heaviness in my chest vanished every time I think of him.

Raphael, the monster who created me, disappeared into oblivion, apparently. Nobody knew what ever happened to him. My father said these words with such calmness that had cold fingers of dread trailing up and down my spine. It wasn't because I'd suspected him of being responsible for Raphael's disappearance, it was just the way he said it ineffectually. The way I see it, he was either resigned that he didn't want to exact revenge or it was because the years of being estranged from my mother had left him anesthetized.

When I had fully recovered all my faculties, Charlie decided it was time for us to see outside the boundaries of Washington State; which we did as soon as I got the clearance from several doctors.

We traveled to Europe, bypassing Italy for obvious reasons, and then we went to Australia; where the skies were endlessly blue and the sun shined for weeks. He sketched, I read; he talked, I listened. We toured galleries and gave me lessons in Art. He was pretentious but knowledgeable, patient but short-tempered. All in all, we talked a lot about the past and attempted to forgive each other's misgivings. I've even attempted to draw, a feat I'd never done before. I was awful at it.

But we never mentioned Edward.

He was that person who changed us, for the worst and for the better. He took a lot from us. But he had given me the father I never had. I was grateful for that. My pain and despair of the past year had driven Charlie out of his own hermit shell. Every day he tried his best to compensate for those times when he ignored me. It was good at first; but then he started to hover on days when all I wanted was to be left alone. On a good day, my mind is empty and numb, exactly like how I want it to be. But on most days, when I'd walk past the room that he used and could still smell a hint of his essence, it took a lot from me to go back to that dark place and jump again. He ruined that for me too. It was my paradise until his memories made it my hell.

One early morning, I was jostled awake by a memory so profound that I sobbed heartily. My right hand reached down to my belly. The thought of being pregnant with his child was terrifyingly sweet. Hatred for the man who didn't care enough to think about precautions grew and hardened even more around my heart like a calcite. He was so callous in the way that he took me—selfish and typical of a weak coward. And at no point did I ever fantasize about Edward being around to help me bring up his child.

But all those thoughts were all for naught as it never happened. I could only thank emotional stress and physical injuries for preventing another upheaval in my life.

The slow months passed until Charlie was sure that my young heart had forgotten about it and I didn't do anything to dissuade him otherwise. I went back to my routine; meadow, home, and walks with Jake filled my days until the restlessness and the memories almost drove me insane. I couldn't stay in the house any longer.

One day, Charlie told me he wanted to paint me; something that he'd never done before. But days went by and I didn't hear a word about it again. He had a forthcoming exhibit in Seattle so I chocked it up to the hecticness of the days leading up to that.

"Bella?" he stood on the threshold of my bedroom, unsure, for the first time that I'd ever seen him.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Can I show you something?"

I followed him to his studio (another one of those changes that had under went in our lives). It was weird being in there. The walls and floors were splattered with paint of different hues and vibrant colors. Most of his art were packed in crates but for one that was still propped on an easel. Without preamble, he slowly uncovered the piece.

I was gasping for breath as soon as it came into view.

The dark days came back with a vengeance in the form of a painting so real that I would've fallen on my knees had it not been for Charlie's quick hands.

It was I—the broken version.

It was that day—only darker.

The clouds swirled above me in the angriest of color while my face…it was a picture of resignation, sorrow and pain.

Charlie watched me broodingly. "I'm so sorry, Bella," he said with grim eyes. "But I had to."

I nodded.

A note was stuck at the bottom of the easel which read, "A father's broken heart" written in Charlie's block letterings.

I could feel the wound throb painfully again.

Charlie looked at the canvass despairingly. His voice, when he spoke, was muffled and uneven.

"I liked him, you know. I suppose I knew what was going on between the two of you on the second day that he was here. But I trusted him. I trusted my own judgment. It never entered my mind that someone like him would risk persecution for taking advantage of a minor," he faced me with a sudden determination. "We could sue him, Bella. He could pay for what he did to you…expose him to the world."

I shook my head vehemently, trembling with the need to run away again. "No," I croaked. "I just want to forget, Dad. Forget that it ever happened."

I realize that he had just given me the opening I needed.

"But it's so hard to do that here, Dad. There are so many memories—painful ones attached to this place," I looked up at him cautiously. "I've been thinking that maybe it was time for me to go to college…"

He sucked in a breath then closed his eyes for a minute. "Are you sure? I don't want you living on your own in the city, Bella," he turned away and stared out the full-length window of his studio, lost in thoughts. "I'd miss you if you went." He added in a low voice.

The admission touched the child in me; the one who'd missed any parental affection terribly. "I'll miss you too, you know," I smiled. "But I have to find a life of my own." I realized that Edward was right that I'd been marooned in a backwater of the world. If I didn't take the chance, I might never get out.

"He loved you," he said huskily. "He wanted me to tell you that. He asked me to say…"

"Don't," I jumped in wearily. "I don't want to hear anymore," out of the depths of my hurt came a stronger voice and even stronger conviction. "Don't mention his name again."

He set out to make me fall in love with him. Deliberately making traps with seduction and words meant to ensnare. Well, he succeeded. And the next time I see him, it would be hard pressed for anyone to stop me from sticking a knife deep in his chest.

He had shaken my belief in human nature, my own judgment and my father's judgment. In a short time, he'd won both of us; trusted him, liked him. Only to be betrayed in the end.

I look at myself in the mirror and find the cruel physical changes that I've gone through. My eyes are darker, my face took on an impish quality, pixie-like almost with the short hair that reached my chin. Days of diminished appetite were visible in the protruding bones on my hips. I've become a waif. My father would say that I looked more like Renee nowadays; beautiful when I smile, terrifyingly strong when I don't. He said that sometimes, he'd look at me and remember what she was like when she moved to the States. I guess the pain and the suffering on my face made me an eligible subject for one of Charlie's paintings…and I did.

It must've been quite an ego trip for him; to come here, find a simple, unsophisticated girl and crush her with the fascination of his domineering personality. He must've gone back to whatever hell he came from very pleased with himself. _To his wife,_ a voice inside my head whispered. What was she like, the unsuspecting woman whom Edward betrayed without hesitation? I felt sorry for her.

I looked at my father and forced a smile.

"I want to go to college, Dad. Do you think I can get in?"

He grinned. "I'll do everything in my power to give you anything you want, child. I'll put in a call to Washington U. The Dean there owed me some favors."

Of course. Who would refuse the great, Charlie Swan?

For the first time in months, I felt like my life wasn't spinning out of control in the same orbit. I was going somewhere, granted in the direction of where _he _was, but I didn't care. The world may not be big for the two of us, but I refuse to hide here and live on a stand still.

I have a future; uncertain, yes, but a future nonetheless.


	10. Chapter 10  Crawling

**A/N: If you're still here, I thank you. If you're not, I don't blame you. The creative well has run dry...I apologize. Sincerely. Whole-heartedly. **

**"Crawling in my skin**

**These wounds, they will not heal**

**Fear is how I feel**

**Confusing what is real."**

**- Crawling, Linkin Park**

**Chapter 10**

The cold November wind whipped and slashed brutally around me. The rain, having to contend with the force of the swirling air, couldn't seem to figure out if it was going to go vertical or horizontal. Traffic and pedestrians went about their businesses seemingly prepared for the wet winter that Seattle had been having while I had to struggle just to stay upright. My book bag weighed a ton across my shoulders as I battled the relentless storm. Having lost some considerable weight, I'd expected to be thrown across the street like a rag doll. But I held myself steady; hands covered with mittens, head attired by a red wool hat.

The walk from the campus to my apartment takes me about ten minutes on a nice calm day. But with the gale force winds and the spray of cold rain, it had taken me a bit longer. I had bouts of starts and stops where I'd to take cover behind a sturdy structure for fear of being literally blown away.

I peeked under the lip of my hat, grateful that I was only about twenty steps away from Carmen's, a café on Western Avenue where my apartment was located. The top floor of the restaurant houses living quarters which Carmen and her husband graciously let to me. It's where I ended up after much discussion with my father. He agreed, very reluctantly that I needed a space to test my wings. Carmen and Eleazar own the building and are the proprietors of the café—friends of Charlie's during his university days that have lost contact since he decided to live like a hermit.

It didn't take them long to fall back into the familiarity of their friendship.

Dad calls them once in a while now to either check up on me or to let them know when he'll be in town.

The transition from living in a small hick town to the city was shocking to say the least on most days, exciting. I've managed to make acquaintances in a short span of time. I made it a rule to only go out in groups. Boys—men would approach me for dates but I've been turning offers down. I've lost the desire to ever like anyone in that capacity again. And it's not like there were many. Those who were brave enough to approach me were treated to a cool but kindly refusal.

University life has been good for me. Turns out that Charlie indeed have some pull with the Dean of English department by way of a commissioned painting that now hangs on the Dean's office wall. How he was able to convince the Admissions Office to accept me late in the year was beyond me and I wasn't sure if I wanted to know anyway.

I'm kept constantly busy with the heavy amount of assigned reading, essays and research papers to be done. And when I'm not studying, I try to help out Carmen downstairs serving or bussing tables.

It took me a while to convince Charlie that he didn't need to move to Seattle with me as he originally planned. Thankfully, he's been very accommodating with my requests as of late. I agreed that he pays for my tuition but I insisted to pay for my accommodation. I make do with what Carmen pays me and the tips I get from customers.

But Charlie still sends me a monthly allowance that I've been careful not to touch.

Stubborn man.

I miss him. I miss Jake. But Seattle has been a very good distraction. The hustle and bustle deafens the screaming loneliness and the newness of every single thing stifles the pain to a tolerable intensity.

"Isabella, _mi hija vienen!_ Come, come inside. _La lluvia—_the rain! It's terrible, sí?" Carmen had the door opened as if she was waiting for me.

"_Absolutamente!" _I respond with a laugh.

"How was your class today?" She asked, frowning as she eyed my bedraggled appearance.

"Long and boring," I responded and wiped the rain off my face with my hand.

She tsked as she saw the knee-length dress I wore to class with much disgust.

"Oí. This—" she started to say as she helped me out of my pea coat. "This is not appropriate for Seattle weather, _hija. _You need something warmer, sí?" Her gentle eyes raked over my dress with concern. Carmen tended to be a bit overwhelming. The mother hen attitude was suffocating, albeit, welcomed for someone like me who had no experience with any kind of motherly love. Eleazar, her ever loving husband looked on over with much amusement that his wife finally got someone to fuss and flutter about. Being married for twenty-five years without a child, they thought it was a blessing that Charlie had come and approached them with a proposition that I live in their upstairs apartment. Apparently, they took me in when Charlie was attempting to console my mother out of the darkness she perpetually inhabited during those trying days. The trips they took to exotic places left me in the care of the childless couple when I was a child.

"It's fine, _tia._ It wasn't that cold when I left this morning." She insisted that I refer to her as my aunt, _tia_, in her native tongue.

"Would you like to warm up with a cup of tea?"

She shuffled me away right to the back of the restaurant much to the delight of Eleazar and amid the curious stares of the patrons.

"She's been—how do you say, _ansioso?—_worried since it started raining." Eleazar commented as we walked by his bar.

The mothering I've been getting from Carmen was a foreign territory to me. It got to a point where I purposely hide from her sometimes. The attention, though wanted, was stifling. Maybe it was because it was something I wasn't used to, or the concept of maternal instincts coming from a stranger was incomprehensible to me. But I am not so much of an ungrateful wench not to relish Carmen's thoughtfulness.

"Do you need my help at the restaurant, _tia_?" I looked around the dining area to find it filled almost to capacity. The onslaught of the storm outside must've brought some more people in.

"No," she walked away toward the direction of the industrial-sized stoves and started to stir a small pot. "I made you some vegetable stew." She smiled and ladled a serving in a bowl. The stew wasn't even in her menu. It's just one of the things that she does for me. I shook my head and flopped down on a chair.

"You didn't have to do that, _tia_," I grimaced as her smile widened. She was truly enjoyed being a mother. Fate is funny that way—blessing people who didn't want the child and not gifting a couple who'd do anything for a child of their own.

"Now, eat your stew so you can warm up. I have Jessica coming in tonight. You just study, si?" She tucked a roll of bread beside the bowl and set the whole thing down in front of me.

The steaming soup smelled and looked good, triggering a rumble in my belly. I took a spoonful and blew on it for a few seconds before the spoon got lost in my mouth.

"Good, _si_?" she asked. She took the beanie cap off my head and fluffed my damp, flattened hair. It had grown a few inches in that length where the bangs covered half my face if left unrestrained. My wool hat had become a constant part of my wardrobe even indoors for the purpose of keeping the clump of stubborn hair.

The soup burned its way down my throat, sating the loud monster in my stomach.

I nodded and smiled at Carmen in concurrence.

"Anyway, you finish your soup, _bonita_ and go upstairs to your apartment. It's a busy day but we're fine." Her full mouth lilt at its ends satisfied that I'm thoroughly enjoying her stew.

"_Gracias, tía_." I mumbled and offered her a smile.

I finished up the stew and cleaned up, full and warm for the first time since walking out into the storm that continued to howl. The lingering warmth of the soup will hopefully keep me comfortably cozy through the night.

* * *

><p>My apartment—open and airy, seemed to be in eternal winter. I'd find myself covered in layers upon layers of clothes that couldn't seem to stave the cold away. The faucets groaned, complaining for me to leave them alone. The windows, broken and cracked in some places, sang and whimpered like disturbed banshees on a windy day like today. But even with the buckling wooden floors, and its state of disrepair, I've never grown attached to a place as I have with my apartment. Furnished with furniture that had seen better days bought with my own money, my chest puffs out with pride every time I unlock the door when I come home.<p>

Charlie had given me some of his less chilling art pieces to hang on my wall. It somehow had given the place some distinct character that made it truly my own.

Oh the irony.

The independency that _he _had drilled in my head over and over again was only achieved when I almost killed myself.

* * *

><p>The weeks in Seattle seem to pass rapidly that I barely notice upcoming Thanksgiving. I usually visit Charlie on the weekends. We'd share breakfasts to start our day as he made wry faces, admonishing me for maturing in his eyes.<p>

"I can't really stop you from growing, can I?" he'd comment, his eyes resigned. I'd pat his hand, placating him and smile.

"I can't be twelve forever, Charlie."

I still hear the faint regret in his voice…sometimes grief. I've always wondered if I looked like the monster who abused my mom or am I starting to look more and more like her as the days passed by? I've yet to see a single photograph of my mother and the only time I could vaguely remember ever seeing her was when I was delirious with pain and medication at the hospital. Even then, everything was hazy. I think I could remember her eyes…and her hair. But I can't find the strength to ask Charlie. Anyway, I know it hurt for him to talk about as much as it hurt for me to revisit those days with Edward.

The changes in Charlie were staggering; it was obvious in the constant phone calls and our discussions when I was home. Gone were the snappy and curt comments or the awkwardness of being alone with my own father. Sometimes I feel cheated—knowing that he was capable of caring about me all along and choosing to hide that side of him for most of my life.

But then he'd let me in his studio and I'd watch him work and I'd get over my resentment pretty fast. Charlie in action as he painted another gruesome creation was both delightful and frightful thing to watch. The way his hands moved in a determined fashion as he gives birth to an art born out of despair literally took my breath away. They were both beautiful and haunting. Sometimes, the pain was so palpable that I'd expected to find tears in his eyes. He'd be out of breath like a runner with paint all over his clothes and hair and I'd start to tear up because I've never seen such sheer intensity of love and hate depicted on a canvass.

It made me wonder.

Was that how he saw me the first time my mother brought me home?

* * *

><p>The walk from the library back to the apartment was a pleasant one for a change. The day was calm and bright with just a light cool breeze teasing the brown leaves and trash on the streets around.<p>

The sun was inexorably dazzling as it caught the reflections of parked cars by the curb.

As if by some devil's nudge that I looked up at that very moment and that exact place did I notice a car that triggered a series of tremor from somewhere deep inside me.

The black paint gleamed in the sunshine. No scratches, no broken glass—no signs at all that it was the same car that plowed on that tree.

I looked around slowly; my heart leaping out of my chest. The eerie feeling surrounded me, my skin prickling as if a ghost was haunting me in the day light.

It couldn't be.

There could be other cars like that…_right_?

The wide tires. The same leather seats. I bet if I could go in it would have that leather smell. _Oh God. _

But this kind of car is rare.

No matter how hard I tried convincing myself, I knew it was the same car.

I could almost feel his presence—electricity or magnet that was pulling me as I stood there.

Terror made its way up my spine, circling around me like a vise.

I ran to the back of the restaurant and up to my apartment, slamming the door behind me with such force that it almost shook off its hinges.

He was close. I can feel him.

I just know it.

**Another chapter will be posted tonight...and I'm halfway on the next one. I'm really, really, really SORRY. :(**


	11. Chapter 11 Stop Crying Your Heart Out

**A/N: Hello. Thanks for the support and the reviews. I'll have you know, I was getting a tongue lashing from my friend, Annie. :) I think her exact words were, "It's about fucking time...damn." **

**'Cause all of the stars are fading away**

**Just try not to worry.**

**You'll see them some day**

**Take what you need and be on your way**

**And stop crying your heart out.**

**- Stop Crying Your Heart Out, OASIS**

**Chapter 11 - Stop Crying Your Heart Out**

The near miss of seeing him kept me up for days. I can't believe how naïve I was for thinking that I could easily heal from what he'd put me—us through. In the quiet darkness of my bedroom, the hatred came alive like a vicious animal, snarling and snapping its teeth furiously. I was torn between relief and regret that I didn't see him. If I'd seen him, I probably wouldn't think twice about killing him. Stupid, I know. Why waste my life on someone whose life warranted no significance at all?

_Liar. _

The truth was, Edward had become the biggest irony of my life. I ran from home only to find myself closer to where he is. I tell myself over and over that he meant nothing to me but judging by the amount of time I spent agonizing and convincing myself that I don't think about him spoke in volumes of how bogus my feelings have become.

The car was there again the following week.

This time, I forced myself to stand beside it. I ignored the tremors that shook my fingers as I tentatively touched the sleek surface of the car. I swallowed the vomit that rose up from the pit of my stomach. I couldn't remember the plate; I don't actually remember looking at it that first time. But I could vaguely see the steering wheel and imagined his head leaning against it as blood trickled down his face. My pulse raced with the vision.

"Isn't she a beauty?" a voice said from behind me.

I spun, eyes wide and white faced—gasping for air as if they were my last breaths.

It wasn't him. The anti-climactic of it all left me breathless and limp like an overcooked noodle.

A boy—man older than me by a several years stood under the glare of the sun. Blond hair, blue eyes. Tall, dressed casually.

I stared at him. He was handsome. And really tall—I did mention that already. Taller than Edward.

I laughed—almost in a hysterical way. He had become a dark shadow that I couldn't get away from. Every single man I'd ever encountered couldn't measure up.

The man's blue eyes changed from the friendly teasing way to concern. My laugh turned to sobs—tears that I didn't even know was already trickling down my face. I tried to shake it off but it just kept coming. It's been a while. I was losing my mind in front of a stranger.

I swayed against the side of the car, clinging to it in case I fall on my face. I pulled my book back on my chest like a lifesaver in an ocean of madness.

"Oh God," I whispered. My vision darkened—my head throbbed.

"Hey, are you okay?" The boy opened the car door and carefully sat me down on the passenger seat. Everything seemed so familiar. The smell was just how I imagined it. Leather and cologne and man. But it wasn't Edward I smelled. I inhaled a lung-full of air and steadied my breathing, wrapping my arms tighter around my book bag.

"Are you going to pass out? Would you like some bottled water? I think I have some in the trunk. Hold on a sec," he fussed, panicked and spoke in a speed fire. He walked around the back of the car and lifted the trunk and in seconds closed it shut again.

"Here," he handed me the bottle.

My fingers were shaking so hard I was comically uncoordinated. He took the bottle back and opened it deftly.

I sipped it obediently and closed my eyes. _Calm down. Calm down. _

I looked at him again and offered him a shaky smile, wiping the tears from my cheeks, completely humiliated.

"I'm sorry—I must've forgotten to eat breakfast." And it wasn't a lie. I'd barely touched my bowl of cereal this morning. I'd barely touched any food since I saw the car the previous week.

I took another mouthful of water and tried to stand up. He offered his hand and I gratefully took it. His hands swallowed mine easily. It felt nice. It was a hand of a hard working man, strong with calluses.

"There's a café just down the street, let's get you fed."

I tried to pull my hand free but he refused to let go. Any form of protests in my mind died in my throat. There was something oddly calming about him.

"Are you a student?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered shortly.

"Well no wonder."

"What does that mean?" I tried to mask my indignation but it didn't work.

"Judging by your attire and how skinny you are." My brows furrowed in mild annoyance. I pulled my hand free again but he was unyielding.

"And judging by your attire, I don't think I should go anywhere with you." I shot back. I didn't know what I meant but it sounded like a good idea at the time.

He laughed, and then proceeded to hold my mittened hand like we've known each other for decades.

"Don't be grumpy," he drawled. His voice held a nice masculine ring that if I'd not sworn off men I'd be blushing whenever I heard it. "I'm about to buy you a meal and then take you where you needed to go."

He didn't realize that we were almost where I needed to be.

"I didn't mean to sound like an ass; I just meant that students usually skimp with their money. And you really shouldn't do it because you can't work hungry— or go out in the streets dressed slightly better than a hobo."

I got to hand it to him; he could placate and insult me in one breath. It was quite entertaining. I'd forgotten that I was supposed to be mad for his backhanded flattery and let him guide me home with my hand tucked on the crook of his elbow.

"I hope Carmen's there," the stranger droned on. "She makes the best grilled cheese sandwich. But she only makes it extra special for me. She adds prosciutto and havarti instead of the regular American cheddar."

I scoffed. That was such a 'Carmen' thing to do.

"What?" he side eyed me.

"You can hardly call that a grilled cheese now can you? It sounds more like a Panini sandwich more than anything."

He broke out into a huge grin.

I finally got a full glimpse of his face. He was actually younger than I thought. His hair was carelessly disheveled, long and layered. He didn't belong in this Seattle winter. He should be in California—a sun worshipper whose tan was starting to fade from hibernating.

I flushed as he caught me staring.

"I think I'll pass on the meal. Thank you, anyway," I pulled my hand again with success this time.

"It's one of the deadly sins," he warned.

"What's that?" I said, puzzled.

"Pride," he smiled. _Oh._ But was he ever charming—adorably boyish.

"It isn't that," I objected. "I don't know you." We were already inside the cafe.

"That can be remedied." He waved to Eleazar to come over, who came with an obsequious smile.

"Would you introduce me to this young lady, Eleazar?"

The older man gave me a curious look. "Miss, permit me to introduce you to Mr. Jasper Cullen," he said, his dark eyes sly.

I frowned at Eleazar and decided I'd take Carmen's overbearing mother hen attitude over Eleazar's playfulness any day.

"Right," Jasper said confidently, nodding with satisfaction. "Now, find us a table and a menu, please, Eleazar."

Eleazar lifted a brow before walking over to an empty table and swiping the menus.

"Didn't you just eat, Jasper?" he asked.

The boy laughed. "Very insightful, Ele. But I'm not eating again. I'm here purely to make sure this pretty lady eats." He looked over to me, all-condescending. "You need to eat—and I mean a whole lot. You need some flesh to pad your bones. I'll order steak, if I were you."

I shook my head—utterly confused and bamboozled with the ensuing events.

"She's a vegetarian," Eleazar thankfully interjected.

The boy—Jasper looked at him suspiciously. "How do you know that?"

"Her name is Isabella and she lives upstairs. Carmen will have your neck bones boiled for soup if you so much as looked at her the wrong way."

"Now, now, Ele. Why would I piss off the woman who makes the greatest chili known to man?"

Eleazar laughed then turned to me, "_Bella,_ would you like some hummus and bread while I go scrounge up a salad for you?"

I groaned. "No—no thank you," I started to get up and gather my bag. "I think I'm just going to head upstairs."

Jasper stood up just as fast. "Come on, Isabella. I didn't really offend you, did I?"

I blew out a breath.

He was really not a bad person. I was still in shock that the car was not Edward's and maybe the adrenaline of being kept in suspense this whole time finally took a toll in me. The nervous energy seeped out from my pores, leaving me empty—deflated.

I flopped back down on my seat and smiled up at Eleazar. "I'll just have tea, please?"

He nodded and walked away without saying another word.

I turned to Jasper and found him looking at my face intently.

"What?"

His cheeks flushed slightly. "Nothing," he mumbled then smiled.

"Thank you for the offer of a meal, by the way."

His blue eyes scrutinized my face, reading me like a book. I swallowed discreetly and hoped that I wasn't my normal transparent self.

"You're welcome," he said quietly. Jasper took the menu from the table and quickly scanned the items. "I'm sure there are stuff here that you can eat." He mumbled under his breath.

"Carmen usually cooks me something when she's got time..." my voice trailed off as Eleazar came back with my tea and left again just as quickly.

A comfortable silence settled over the table.

I found him watching me again.

"You're not a student," I commented drily.

He smiled. "Yes, thanks. What gave it away? Was it because I'm dressed impeccably?"

I looked down and smiled impishly.

"That and you're fat."

He gasped and held his hand on his chest. "You wound me."

I laughed quietly.

"Seriously, are you okay?" he asked, his mirth slightly evident. "That was some heavy stuff back there."

I cleared my throat and looked away from his curious and sincere gaze.

"I work in the family business," he said after a moment or two—probably realizing that I wasn't going to volunteer any information.

"A good paying job, obviously." I chided. He could be no more than twenty. His clothes and car screamed wealth not to mention the confident way he carried himself.

"The pay is hardly worth it. The problem with working for the family business is that you see your family all the time." He complained but I could sense the pride in his voice. "It gets a bit dull sometimes." He added.

"Yes, but it allows you to drive a vintage like your car."

He laughed. "My car was a gift. What about you? Do you like school?"

I told him about English and I was struck by how he seemed interested in everything I said. Eleazar came by once and sat a cup of coffee in front of him. We talked for hours it seemed. There was just something so easy with him, like we're two old friends reminiscing. His blue eyes held a playful smile whenever they looked at me and I was suddenly aware that Seattle had become even more like a panacea; curing my heart in slow progression. And though it still hurt, the possibilities are endless.

It was two hours later when we've noticed how much darker it was outside.

"Goodness, look at the time!" I exclaimed, gathering my book bag off the floor.

"Oh wow," he looked at his watch and grimaced. "I'm in trouble."

"You have a curfew, little boy?" I smirked at him.

He swiveled his head, his eyebrows raised in a gesture I found already familiar. I laughed and flushed and shook my head.

"I'm twenty-two. I'd hardly get a spanking if I don't get home in time," he said.

"I just turned eighteen, in case you want to know."

"I've got years on you then."

"Yes, you're definitely much, much older than me."

It was déjà vu, a different conversation with a different person that suddenly sucked the air out of the room.

"Do you have a boy friend?"

"No," I said firmly, my lips tightening. "And I don't want one, thank you."

"All righty then," he laughed. "Touchy subject, huh?" He stood up and took his jacket from the back of the chair.

I didn't reply, hoping my silence was enough.

"Good—that's good. My brother always tells me, '_Jasper, you good for nothing loser…quit screwing around with girls or you'll never go far'_, in which I answer with some expletives that could make truckers blush."

"Your brother sounds smart…and charming?" I added unsurely.

He scoffed. "If by charming, you really mean a dictator then, yes." Then his face got serious and his hand reached up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear.

"I know you're not looking for anything but maybe we could hang out sometime? You know, like friends?"

I relaxed, relieved that his touch did not send my stomach churning or my heart skipping. Smiling, I took his hand and squeezed it before letting it go. "Thank you." And it was by some miracle that he understood what I was thanking him for.

For listening.

For not expecting much.

For just being him.

"Do you skate?" he asked as he headed toward the door.

"Oh Lord, no. Ice and me—we don't mix."

"Bah," he dismissed my warning. "I have a feeling you'll enjoy it—despite the bruises."

After a pause, he said, "I'll come around to pick you up tomorrow at six-thirty…bundle up."

"All right, but if I break my neck you'll have to tell my dad and he'll possibly break yours!"

We walked out the door together. I don't know what it was but I was inexplicably drawn to the calm and ease of Jasper.

"Are you and your father close?" he asked with a hesitant look on his face. "Are you a close family?"

"There's just me and Charlie," I answered quietly. The staccato of our steps echoed in the darkened streets as the chilly winter air swirled around us. "My father, that is…yes, I think we're close." A year or so ago I would've said no, we were separate icebergs drifting apart, but things are different and it was wonderful to be sure about it now. I looked at Jasper, waiting for him to say something back, but he said nothing. His face, for the first time since I've met him was closed.

"Well," he said as he turned to me. "I have to say, I've never been more happy to save a damsel in distress as I did today, Isabella." The street lamp shadowed his face but I could sense his smile even in the dark.

I smiled back and started to head back—walking backwards toward the café.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Jasper."

Seattle has gotten even better.

**I'm working on it...working on it...Thanks, again!**


	12. Chapter 12 Title is too long Damn

**A/N: Oh hai. Uhm...squeezing the depleting creative juices. I'm not even going to ask you for forgiveness. I'm just going to basically keep writing until this story is finished. Believe it or not, I know where I'm going with this. This is why writing should be left to the professionals. **

**THINGS I OWN: A fuckton of books. **

**THINGS I DON'T OWN: Twilight & White Stripes. **

"I'm bringing back ghosts  
>That are no longer there<br>I'm gettin' hard on myself  
>Sittin' in my easy chair<br>Well, there's three people in the mirror  
>And I'm wonderin' which one of them I should choose<br>Well, I can't keep from laughin'  
>Spittin' out these 300 mile per hour outpour blues"<p>

- White Stripes

**Chapter 12 – 300 mph Torrential Outpour Blues**

Ice-skating with Jasper was a painful and embarrassing experience. He was quite adept and graceful on ice. He told me he used to play hockey with his brother - his brother whom he'd avoided talking about. But I didn't push for information. I figured that if there were things in his life he didn't want to talk about then I was fine with it. Because heaven knows there are things in my life that I'd rather kept hidden.

I'd fallen on my butt so many times that I'd lost all feelings back there. It took a hundred tries and a million laughs but I eventually got the hang of it. Jasper was very quick to help me up. I'd say he was a gentleman but he laughed at my expense one too many times to ever consider him as one.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow," I groaned as he helped me to a bench. "I think my butt is now two inches thicker than when we got here."

His eyes lit up playfully. "You want me to check?"

I threw my woolen mitts at him. His honest laugh was so contagious that for the first time in a long time, it felt good to be laughing with someone.

He sat down beside me and started making work of removing his skates.

"You had fun, though, yes?"

"Yeah…believe it or not, I did,"

"I'm starving," he grumbled as he stood up. "Let's get a bite to eat—but not at Carmen's. I'm not ready to face her wrath yet." He held out his hand and I grabbed on to it eagerly. I could barely walk straight. The entire lower half of my body felt like they'd lost all capacities.

"I can carry you if you want," he smirked.

"Ugh. I can't believe I let you talk me into skating. Thank goodness I've got no classes tomorrow or you'll be taking them for me."

"Hot, hot bath when you get home and a couple of Advil should cure what ails your glorious butt."

I tried to hit him but he dodged at the right moment, laughing at my feeble attempt to retaliate.

We rode in his car; the same black beast that made my heart skipped as soon as I saw it parked in front of the apartment when he picked me up. I don't think I'd ever get rid of the paranoia and I've resigned to the fact that it's going to take a while before my nerves get used to its familiar sleek lines.

We ended up at a hamburger place where Jasper devoured meat equating to a whole cow. I've never been one those people who showed utter disgust at other people's penchant for consuming meat. I'm a vegetarian by the simple reason that I prefer it and not because I have some belief that eating meat was inhumane.

I ordered a salad with a simple vinegar and oil dressing while Jasper moaned excessively in meat euphoria.

"So, what do you do when you're not a slave to your family business?"

He chewed his food deliberately then took a sip of his soda before answering my question.

"I'm one of those, man's man, adrenaline junkie," he said as he chomped on a fry. "I can never stay inactive. I'm either surfing, spelunking, hiking, climbing, diving—you name it, I'd done it. This is probably the longest I've stayed at home in a while. I'm usually wasting my meager trust fund somewhere in the world looking for the next adventure."

"Oh? What happened? You ran out of mountains to climb?" I said, teasing him.

"Nah. My older brother—" he paused and furrowed his brows as he searched his mind for the right words. "Well, in a word, I guess he had a breakdown of some sort."

I watched the sadness washed over his usually happy, smiling face. I reached out and tentatively touched his hand as he looked away, staring outside.

"He was a hard ass before he fell apart. To this day, no one really knew what happened. This guy was successful at anything he sets his mind to. The one who can never do wrong…but I guess there comes a point in your life when the pressure of being a god gets to you sometime."

He smiled sadly then squeezed my hand in gratitude.

"Anyway, I'm just picking up the slack. He used to flip his shit at me for not helping out. It's too bad that nowadays, he's either passed out or too drunk to notice."

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the gloom of his family woes.

"I'm so sorry," was all I could say.

"We're all right," the smile was back on his face. "It's a good thing and a bad thing. I think it was time anyway that everyone realized he can't be everything and be anywhere all at once. We depended far too much on him. I'm more than happy to work even if being a desk jockey kills me one brain cell at a time."

"Can't be that bad, is it?"

"No, not really," he played with his fries, smearing ketchup all over his plate. "He's so brilliant and so good at what he does that the company, err, the _companies_ were air tight. He's been an absent CEO for almost a year now and thankfully none of the holdings had yet to falter."

We eased into a quiet companionship for a few minutes. Jasper just seemed so easy going on the outside. Who knew that there was a part of him who could be serious when he wanted to?

From the lack of practice, I've always had hard time comforting someone. Words just don't come easily to me and I shy from any kind of physical comfort. All I could really offer him was sincere hope that whatever demon his brother was fighting, he'd meant to fight it alone. That all Jasper could do was to not give up on his brother. I told him as such and he looked at me with such reverence, it made me feel small.

"What?" I finally blurted out when his stare got too uncomfortable.

He chuckled as two pink spots appeared on his cheeks. "Nothing," he mumbled. "It's just…you're so refreshing and so easy to talk to that I could be telling you all my dark secrets and I wouldn't even know it."

My brow quirked, intrigued. "Secrets huh?"

"Yeah, you know—secrets. Everybody has them. I've told you mine so it's your turn." His stare was challenging. I looked down on my half eaten salad as my mouth pursed grimly.

"No?" he murmured.

My fingers twisted on my lap. To go back and reminisce about those times was to be swept away in a dark river of despair.

"Hey," he leaned forward and touched my cheek, reading the misery in my eyes. "I was just kidding."

But I don't want to be that person anymore; the one who stupidly thinks that voicing out your fears is a sign of weakness. I refused to be alone anymore when a friend was sitting in front of me, offering his ears and his understanding.

"Last spring, I almost died…" I swallowed a vine of thorns down my throat. "For a time, I could've sworn I did."

And so I told him my story.

I told him how in a matter of days, I'd fallen in love so hard I thought that death was the only answer when he left.

I told him how my father changed from a miserable, closed man to the father I hoped I had instead.

I told him my reality – that sometimes, being alone felt much better than being surrounded by people.

I told him that inside me beats a million pieces of a shattered organ that was supposed to know love and give love. But I've got nothing. Just emptiness and a will to fight everyday against my own demons.

"So I can understand where your brother is coming from," I told him.

Sometimes it's much easier to just let the tide take me away. And I know it sounded like a coward's way out but when you're sick of the carousel of misery that you find yourself in, it's easier just to lie there until you're too dizzy to get up and get off.

And he sat there – eyes wide, full of understanding and I never knew that I was clutching on to his hand tight – with my voice heady with bitter ache.

And when I was done, my breath hitches with dry sobs but the tears won't come. I think it finally dried out.

I watched his throat bobbed, as if he was fighting some emotion to surface. But he just stared at me with an ache that mirrored my own. I'm desperate to understand it. How someone like Jasper can be so full of empathy for someone he'd just met.

"Listen, thank you for telling me about your past," he started. We walked out of the restaurant and had begun our walk back to my apartment. "I think I'd like for my brother to meet you." He stopped and turned to face me. "I think maybe he just needs to see people other than us. Who knows, maybe he can actually make the effort to stay sober even just for a few minutes."

I bit my lip and looked everywhere but at him. "I don't know, J…"

He reached for both my hands and looked down at me.

"Please?" his eyes and his lips begged.

"I don't think I'm ready to meet your family, J."

"It's just going to be my brother and my mother. Don't worry, you'll be fine," he stepped in closer until we were standing toe to toe. "Please, B?"

"Why?" I wanted to understand his logic. How much could I help his brother when I was damaged myself?

"It's just a feeling I have. Once upon a time, he used to be my best friend. I'd like to think that somewhere in his dark depression, still lives the person that I know and love. We shared everything – talked about everything. Even the type of girls we like. I just know that once he sees you, he'd remember the days when he'd chased girls like you."

"Jesus, J!" I broke away from him, huffing. "So now, you're going to set me up with your brother? Where the hell is your shame?"

"I'm not setting you up with him," he followed me in a distance. "I'm just—hear me out, B," he was beside me again, looking down on my profile with desperate, burning eyes. "We're just clueless, you know? At this point we'll do anything since nothing had worked for us."

I finally turned and looked at him. "Jasper, how in the world did you even come to the conclusion that two depressed people should come together and have one depressing party so they could be finally happy?"

"I didn't say that, B," he took my hand got moving again. "Do you know the first thing that came to my mind when I'd seen you staring at my car that day?"

I kept quiet.

"I thought, _wow, _that girl is a dead ringer for my former sister in law."

"What?" I was too stunned to form any other reaction.

"I know, I know—my brother was married to Lauren who died from a brief bout with cancer. He's never been the same and then he took off and disappeared for two weeks and came back even worse. Something happened to him, B. I'm desperate—we're desperate. I'm hoping that if you met him, I don't know…" he paused and blew out a breath. "Forget it, it's dumb. I know," he forced a smile upon his lips and started walking again.

"So do you want to see a movie tomorrow?" He asked like the last few minutes of our conversation didn't happen. I had the urge to run away and never speak to him again.

"Are you serious, J?" I asked mockingly.

"What?"

"Oh, don't play dumb. You can't just say something like that and take it back."

"I'm not taking it back. I'm just—just forget it okay? It doesn't matter. I don't think anything or anyone can help him. He's a lost cause."

And I felt bad; because for a while Jasper listened and he made me feel better. He made me smile and forget with his easy attitude that never asked for more. What's the worst that could happen, anyway?

Simple. He could suffer a relapse and worsen.

"J, what if—I can't even believe I'm considering this—what if we go and have dinner then he gets worse? Are you and your family going to blame me?"

His face lit up, hope shining through like a beacon to a ship. "Don't be silly! Why would we blame you?" He tugged me in his arms and engulfed me in a warm embrace. "B, you have no idea how much this means to me. I can't even begin to tell you."

"Oh stop, Jasper," I said, my voice muffled against his chest. "You are doing this all wrong, you know," I squelched the anxious pang in the pit of my stomach. "If what you're saying is true, then I am the last person your brother would want to see."

"What do you mean?"

"If I truly looked like someone your brother had loved in the past, then I'm probably a ghost he'd rather not see."

**A/N: You can sort of tell, what's coming don't you? *sniffs the air* I smell the wrath of Bella in 3..2...**

**NEXT UP! Edward Cullen. I miss this man. **


	13. Chapter 13 Lies

**A/N: Hellloooooo. No, it's not a figment of your imagination. It's really an update. Anyway, some questions will be answered. Some - but not all. You must stay tuned for that. Oh! and this didly got nominated for two Emerging Swan awards! Squeeeeeeeeee... BEST EDWARD/BELLA PAIRING & BEST DRAMA/ANGST :D Who'd thunk it? I'd appreciate the vote, y'all. Links are on my profile. **

**Thanks for the reviews...uhm, wow. I've got someone raging mad about this fic. Sorry about that.**

* * *

><p>"<strong>Bound at every limb by my shackles of fear<br>Sealed with lies through so many tears  
>Lost from within, pursuing the end<br>I fight for the chance to be lied to again."**

**- Lies by Evanescence**

**Chapter 13 - Lies**

I almost wished he's forgotten about it.

It has been a couple of weeks since Jasper spewed out the non-sense about meeting his family.

I'm not even sure I agreed at the time, to be honest. I've certainly spent a lot of time worrying and thinking about Jasper's hare brained plan in the last few days – more than I care to admit. It wasn't for the lack of trying to opt out of this possible disaster we're about to embark. I've tried to get a hold of Jasper but he was as slippery as an eel. In fact, he made himself scarce these past few days, making it hard to tell him how stupid his idea was _again_. So here I am, dressed and chewing my thumb with anxiety – with an overnight bag pack in tow.

He called me last night after days without contact, telling me that he was going to pick me up at six tonight. His mother apparently wanted us to stay the weekend so the dinner plan just became a two-night stay. He didn't even give me a chance to say anything. In a rush and flurry of words, he simply told me what time he'd be by and hung up the phone.

I've been ready for a while when I heard the car's distinct horn. The boy could seriously use some lessons in manners. My father would be appalled to see such behavior.

A smile crept up my face when I remember telling Charlie about Jasper. I think his exact words were _"Seattle was a bad idea,"_ he said in that dry tone of his.

I took one last look at my image on the mirror and noted that my hair didn't seem so harsh to look at nowadays. Where before it hung on my face in sharp angles, it now hugs my face softly and was just so it hid the caterpillar-like scar quite nicely. You'd have to dig your hand in to feel the mild disfigurement. I decided to wear a black vintage dress from a recent flea market jaunt and paired it up with a pair of sensible knee-high boots. I wasn't sure what kind of dinner party Jasper's family throws but I'd imagined it would be some classy affair. With one last glance, I picked up my large tote and slipped out of the apartment.

My stomach has been churning since I woke up this morning and now that the dreaded day is upon us, the thought of meeting Jasper's family finally hit me in full force.

_What am I doing? _I stumbled to a stop. The person I used to be hid from the crowd and steered clear of meeting other people. And yet, here I am about to meet a couple of Jasper's relatives who were probably regarded as royalties in their circle. Not only that, he was really sold on the idea that I could help his brother. _What am I thinking?_ Better yet, what was _he_ thinking?

As if sensing my trepidation, Jasper jumped out of his car and walked toward me in that usual gait of his. I couldn't tell from his face, but I could feel the nervous energy resonating from him.

"You look nice," he muttered as he pressed a kiss on my forehead. "Thanks again for doing this, B."

He was wearing a pair of black chinos and a charcoal pullover that made his shoulders look wider than it was. His hair was a tumble mess of curls the color of wheat.

"You kind of didn't leave me a choice," I grimaced. "I feel like I got ambushed or something." He reached for my bag and carried it to the car while the hand on my back guided me and ever so carefully helped me to my seat.

"I know. Sorry." He walked around and sat on the driver's seat without moving an inch to start the engine. I could tell he was worried too and a little undecided. I wasn't about to help him steer any which way. I had this sense of foreboding anxiety nipping around the edges of my consciousness. I have no idea why. I was hoping that Jasper would realize the futility of this exercise and decide to let it go.

He sat still, eyes trained to the darkness outside the car.

"Listen," he started. His voice was tight with apprehension. "I realized that this might not be the highlight of my attempt at a career in Psychology…but I hope you can understand why I'm doing this. I know I have no right to involve you in my family drama and I'm really, really grateful that you're doing this," he finally turned his eyes to me, bright blue and glistening like a wet pavement. "I just can't shake this feeling that he's going to snap out of this soon. I just want to help him," then he grasped for my hand like a drowning man would. "Like – this is it right here, Bella; like you are the answer all along. Is that stupid?"

I nodded acquiescingly.

He chuckled, amused that I wasn't going to argue about his logic or the lack thereof. "You're supposed to disagree," he reached out and attempted to ruffle my hair.

I slapped his hand away and laughed with him. "Why should I when I can se no rhyme or reason to what we're about to do. If anything, I really think that I'll just make his mental state worse."

Jasper ignored me as he fumbled for the car keys. "You know, the more I get to know you, the more I realize that I was wrong to think that you were a dead ringer for Lauren. Maybe it was the hair…I don't know," he shrugged. "Lauren had the same short hair but she was way taller. She was sophisticated with a strong personality, _ball buster_ – definitely not like you." He grinned at me in that achingly seductive smile; achingly familiar.

It dawned on me that I still don't know what his brother's name was.

"Does he have a name, or do I just call him, _hey you! Jasper's brother?_"

"Yeah," he turned the key to the ignition, drowning out his voice that I almost missed it.

"_Edward."_

**~ooOOoo~**

I might've gasped, or choked on air. I wasn't sure. All I know was that it got colder in the car somehow even if the heat was on full blast. Jasper didn't notice. He was just as lost in his own thoughts. The nervous anxiety in the car seemed to have grown more intense.

I wrapped my arms around my stomach as overwhelming dread took over. _It can't be. _How is it that I found myself in this position again? Like the first time I caught a glimpse of this car, questioning my sanity. But then again, I shouldn't be surprised. And yet, there was still a part of me that hoped and prayed that this was all a grand coincidence; still some cosmic joke that fate decided to play on me. I'm still clinging on to a glimmer of hope that truly, the world was big enough for the two of us.

Surely, there are hundreds of Edwards in the city? One who drove the same car? But I knew. I knew, no matter how hard I'd hoped otherwise that my painful past was about to catch up to me.

_It can't possibly be_, I argued with myself stubbornly. There's not even an ounce of resemblance between Jasper and Edward. And Jasper said that his last name was Cullen. Edward is a Masen. Even with those deductions, I was still shaking with fear.

I started hyperventilating. I looked down and tried to steady my trembling hands as my blood turned to ice running through my veins.

"C-can we open the windows?" I asked shakily.

Jasper side-eyed me then wordlessly pressed a button. The window whirred open quietly, letting in the dusk chilly air.

"Hey, are you all right?"

I didn't want to look at him. I was afraid that he was going to see everything and I just might vomit all over him. I nodded infinitesimally and continued to suck in massive amount of piercingly cold air.

"You're white as a sheet," he groped for my hands, which were laced frozen on my lap. "Jesus, B. You're freezing!" he closed my window in an instant and set the thermostat on high.

"Here," he said, handing me a pair of mittens. "Put them on before your fingers fall off from frost bite. Sheesh, B. Where are your mitts?"

I breathed in deeply; hoping – praying that my insides would settle. After a few more gulps of air and bouts of dry heaving, I calmed down some. I gave Jasper a tight smile and pretended that everything was all right. I comforted myself with a continuous chant that _it's not the same Edward._

Fate wouldn't be so cruel.

I realized that we've been driving for a while and we'd definitely left the lights of Seattle a while back. I wanted to ask him where we're headed but I can't seem to open my mouth. My tongue lay dead and numb as were the rest of me. It felt like if I speak, my sanity would seep out.

It must've been forty minutes later that the car started climbing up a semi-steep hill. Seemed like such a dangerous drive, what with the thicket of old trees hugging the lane. It must be quite a drop too, judging by the steady incline we were on. After a few more battles with the stick shift and the clutch, the car burst through a wide expanse of clearing leading up to a massive house made purely of glass and wood. The massive structure was lit up, festive and aloof at the same time.

The butterflies that nested in my belly woke up, fluttering in a million tiny beats. My hands were completely damp inside the wool mittens. I swallowed thickly as I saw a woman's figure by the entrance – a massive double door made of glass, wood and intricate iron work. _The door must be heavy_, I thought wildly.

"You ready?" Jasper asked as the engine quieted to a stop.

I cleared my throat and stared out to the intimidating house that beckoned me to come closer and urged me to run away from all at once.

"Yeah," I answered somberly.

He stepped out of the car and closed his door. The sound made me jump as the hair at the back of my neck prickled.

"Hi, mom!" Jasper embraced the petite woman standing at the door with watchful but mirthful eyes – _green eyes. _If I had any doubt that Edward was in the house, they all vanished as the woman turned to me with a familiar beguiling smile.

I was trying to hold myself together, hold on to something before I buckle and fall and embarrassed myself in front of this sophisticated, beautiful woman. I grabbed on to Jasper's arm like I a terrified child. I wanted to turn around and run. I looked wildly at the woman and then to Jasper. I must look a sight; like a woman crazed with fear.

The bravado I presented to the world and the hate that motivated me couldn't stop me from denying the fact that I was not ready to face him. I don't think I'll ever be. But there was no more time for waffling as Mrs. Cullen faced me with that beatific smile on her face.

"So, you are Bella," she held her hand out in genuine reception.

"Yes, nice to meet you Mrs. Cullen." I shook her hand or tried to anyway but she pulled me in and folded me in her petite body. She smelled like what mothers smelled like. Kind of like Carmen, but where Carmen was homely, Mrs. Cullen was flowers and vanilla. Like she's been plucking roses the whole day and then baking cookies in the kitchen.

"Please call me Esme," she said breathlessly.

"How is he today?" Jasper asked his mom as he held the door open for us.

"He's good…really good," Esme nodded with furrowed brow. She looked at me cautiously as if she was afraid to divulge anything incriminating.

"It's okay. She knows Edward's situation." Jasper assuaged her.

Esme looked at me shyly. "Please forgive us if Edward will be unreceptive," she worried her lip and looked up in the direction of the grand staircase of the house. "He's been having trouble lately." I gave her what I'd hoped was a sympathetic smile. Little did she know that it wasn't Edward's unreceptiveness she needed to worry about. I hope I could restrain the violence that was darkening my vision – a bloody red curtain of rage threatening to blind me from all reasons.

I have waited for this.

I wanted this for so long that it even I could admit to myself how much it scared me.

I've never known such anger except for the first few days when I finally realized, he used me - body and soul. He took me apart, flayed piece by piece and left me to put myself back together again.

Impossible, improbable task.

"Don't worry about it, Mrs. Cullen," I smiled flaccidly. "It won't offend me at all."

Jasper stepped around us and disappeared up the staircase. I fought the urge to follow him.

I wanted our confrontation to be over and done with. I followed him with my eyes until all I could hear was his footsteps and a door opening and closing.

Esme was talking about dinner, lamb…_perfect. _The thought of eating meat was repulsive on any given day. The thought of _eating _anything at all was enough to send my intestines coiling into knots.

"I got the chef to cook you some aubergine parmigiana. Jasper told me you're a vegetarian," she prattled on.

"Yes, thank you for your thoughtfulness, Mrs. Cullen," I said, swallowing the bitter vile rising from my throat.

Esme continued to lead me further into the house where opulence seemed never ending. Everything screamed magnificence even in the simplest block of boulder which apparently was a sculpture and therefore, art. I did notice a whole bunch of Charlie's work displayed in the house. For some reason, the painting of a naked cadaver hung in the living room worked in this massive, airy space. I tried not to stare too long because the painting was severely morbid. Charlie painted the body so vividly that it almost looked like a blown-up photograph instead of charcoal. And it was huge; probably about Esme's 5'3" frame.

"Yes, I know. People always asked us why we have that thing hung where everyone could see. But I don't see it as a dead person," she stood right beside me, appraising and thinking about the picture.

My brows quirked in question. "Oh?"

"She's just sleeping. Look how peaceful her expression is – the relaxed lines on her face…She's so at peace but at the same time you can tell she's looking forward to something, like a destination."

Esme looked at the picture longingly. I wanted to point it out that the body was covered in blotches of black, indicating that the cadaver was decomposing. If the dead person was looking forward to something, it was probably that she couldn't wait until she was nothing but dust. Because deep inside, she was cringing at the thought of the maggots that'd eventually consume her flesh and bones. I didn't want to tell her that my father's intention was not to find beauty in ugliness but exposed ugliness in its basal form. What you see is what you get. His interpretation was to spread ugliness where ugliness would prosper – kind of like a bacteria in a warm environment. In this case, rich people tend to buy his work through word of mouth from other rich people. They may think it's art, but to him it was a way of sticking it to the entire human race. He's got a sick sense of humor, my father. There was a point in my life where the innocence of youth led me to believe that Charlie promoted beauty in the ugliest form. But life happened. _Edward _happened.

Cynic though as I sound, my opinion on Charlie's work didn't necessarily reflect how I feel about my father, especially of the man that I've recently come to know. Besides, I'm not the artist in the family so who knows what Charlie was thinking when he drew this gruesome art?

"I swear, I stay away from this room as much as possible," Jasper whispered behind us, shuddering in an exaggerated way. I smiled without turning around, still morbidly fascinated by death splayed before us.

"How's your brother?" I asked coolly.

"He's coming down soon," he cleared his throat then moved away, with Esme following in his wake.

I couldn't seem to look away.

I stood there for a few more minutes until I heard Jasper coming back to fetch me.

At least, I thought it was Jasper.

I turned around and stared at the devil of my past.

He looked older, colder, gaunter…and more beautiful than ever.

A glass decanter fell from his hand; the crash echoed in the cavern of the great room.

My heart beat loud in my ears as the familiar wrenching, intolerable pain threatened to choke me.

"Bella…?" he said hoarsely, his entire body shook.

He closed his eyes tightly and rubbed them for good measure. And when he opened them again, I saw the familiar green that haunted my darkest nights; the same ones that woke me up screaming not in fright, but in severe, utter rage.

I hoped he saw nothing on my face – other than hate and disgust.

He seemed to be frozen on the spot, scared even. _That's right, Edward; you should be scared._

How many times had I imagined this moment? Whenever I thought of him I had only imagined killing him. As the pain lessened enough for me to be able to think, I scrutinized his appearance with a face as ashen as his own.

_Edward Masen. _

He had not only lied about being married, he had lied about his name. He was a liar and a cheat.

Before either of us could say anything, Jasper came rushing into the room - alarm clear on his face as he took on the broken glass on the floor and the permeating odor of spilled alcohol.

"For heaven's sake, Edward!" Jasper turned back around in the direction of the kitchen, perhaps to get something to clean up the mess.

We stood staring at each other, unwilling to take a step forward or back. The room crackled with anger and tension. I looked into his eyes and I hoped to any deities who were listening that he could see my heartbreak and the fury that I used to tether me to this life.

He started moving forward, ever so cautiously.

Jasper walked back in, stopping Edward on his tracks.

"E, you promised you weren't going to touch this stuff tonight," Jasper sighed morosely as he bent down on the floor and started to pick up pieces of the broken glass carefully.

Edward never said a single word; he just stared at me with those green eyes pleading. The room was quiet but for the tinkling of the glass while the taut tension in the air stretched dangerously close to snapping.

I looked away from him for a moment and then joined Jasper on his clean up.

Jasper smiled apologetically and said, "Thanks," under his breath. Edward, on the other hand started breathing loudly – hyperventilating. I looked up to find his eyes burning a hole on the back of Jasper's head. So I smiled – wickedly; because I remember that look. It was the same look that scared the boys from that dance. Let Jasper appease his mind. I wouldn't do anything to make him feel better about anything.

When we were done with Edward's mess, Jasper left the room again, leaving Edward and I sizing up each other.

He started moving forward again.

I raised my hands up and stopped him. "Don't," I said.

"Please…Bella," he whispered. His skin had a grey tinge, like anytime soon he was going to vomit.

And before he could say anything further, Jasper walked back into the room, reeking of the scotch that spilled on the floor.

"Edward, I want you to meet Bella," he said anxiously. And when Edward didn't move a muscle to acknowledge the introduction, Jasper took my shoulders in one arm, his hand pressing my side against his. Edward just stared blankly. "Bella means a lot to me," Jasper added, his chin somewhat rebellious.

Edward slowly moved his green eyes to my face then to Jasper's arm around my shoulders. He seemed unable to move or speak. So I took a deep breath, psyching myself to touch him, and stepped forward with my hand extended.

"How do you do, Edward?"

He looked at my hand as if he was dazed and I heard Jasper inhale angrily. But before he could chastise his brother, Edward put out his hand and our fingers briefly touched. A fierce bitter pang shot through me; I dropped my hand so fast it must've looked like I got electrocuted.

"Excuse me," Edward said unsteadily, his eyes barely registering whether or not he felt the painful spark. He left the room in a flash, leaving a tensed wake behind him.

"God knows how long he's been knocking it back today, even after he told me he wasn't going to touch the stuff," Jasper sighed sadly. "I'm sorry he was a bit offhand with you, Bella. He's like that times, but when he's drunk, he's an unbearable ass."

_He's an unbearable ass all the time, _I thought bitterly.

I moved toward the fireplace, in need of the hot fire to thaw out the ice inside me. I extended my hands to it, shivering. I was so chilled even though I still had my coat on. And it wasn't because of the weather.

"Tell me," I said, breaking the silence in the room. "You and your brother have nothing in common – even in appearance."

He moved to stand beside me. "That's because I was adopted when I was three years old," he rubbed my arms to warm me up faster. "Our father Carlisle, was a doctor at Forks General when he found me in the waiting room. Apparently, my mother who was a crack addict abandoned me there when she realized she couldn't pay for my treatments. I was sick with pneumonia – actually on the brink of death. Dear mother, bless her soul, at least was sober enough to bring me to the hospital. It still took sometime but Esme and Carlisle managed to speed up the paperwork and since they didn't get any objections from my biological mother, the state awarded them with the adoption faster than usual."

I wanted to focus on Jasper's heart breaking childhood life, but my mind kept churning the thought that Edward's last name was different from Jasper's.

"So…is Cullen your biological mother's last name then?"

"No. It's Carlisle's and Esme's. I was a Whitlock."

Which still didn't answer my question. I didn't know how to bring it up without raising suspicions. But my curiosity was killing me.

"Who is Masen?" I turned around and locked eyes with him.

"How did you know that?" I shrugged my shoulders; I didn't care at that point. I didn't think he would answer, but after a few minutes of silence filled with the sound of the crackling fire and the sound of his hands rubbing against my arms, he answered.

"Masen is Esme's maiden name. Her family hailed in Forks – do you know the place?"

I nodded, amazed by how little I've told Jasper about my life.

I ran my tongue over my dry lips. "When did your sister in law die?" I asked huskily. I was dying to know – I _had_ to know.

"Winter, last year – very quick, very sad." He sobered.

That only confirmed my suspicions that Edward was already a widower when he met me. So why would he tell Charlie that he was married when his wife was already dead? It could only mean one thing: He ran from me when he got what he wanted. I clenched my jaw to prevent the animalistic howl from spilling out.

He must've loved his wife for him to go on a self-destructing path. But I felt no sympathy for him. I'd like to watch him suffer.

I thought of my father, and how my mother's death had sapped him for so many years of any emotions, leaving him empty and hollow. Was that what become of Edward? Did he become someone as callous because there was nothing left inside him?

Thankfully, Esme chose that moment to announce that dinner was ready. My emotions ranged from grief, sadness, anger, and determination to punish him. There wasn't one that I could focus on. The thought of facing Edward on the dinner table scared me; not because of him but I was terrified I was going to embarrass Jasper and myself in front of Esme. I don't know how much longer I could hold on to the roiling anger inside of me.

"We'll be right there mom, I'll just have to show Bella where she'll be staying." Jasper took my overnight pack and led me up the stairs.

The lavishness of the house continued up the stairs. For a moment, I'd managed to calm my nerves by soaking in all the luxury that never could I experience even with Charlie's corpulent bank account.

Jasper opened the door to a bedroom the size of the cottage in Forks. It was decorated in contemporary furniture with a king size bed that looked inviting.

"I'll be downstairs," Jasper set down my bag by the foot of the bed. "Freshen up and come down when you're ready." He hugged me one last time and flicked the tip of my nose.

"Jasper!" I tried to hit him but he dodged it quite easily.

Shaking my head in annoyance, I pushed him out the door and shut it behind him.

All at once, the silence and the unfamiliarity of the room brought back the wave of emotions that was threatening to drown me. I sat down on the bed weakly. What the hell was I supposed to do? How could I stay under the same roof as Edward without anyone knowing about our bitter past? He couldn't even bear to be in the same room with me.

The quiet tap in the door woke me from my soliloquy. Without a thought I answered, "Come in," expecting to see Esme.

He came in and closed the door, his eyes smoldering in a field of greens.

Furious_._

"What the hell are you doing here with Jasper?" he asked without pause.

"Ask him," I said through my teeth, "And get the hell out!" I felt like my mouth was stuffed with cotton. Words were knitting inside my brain, toppling out in a rush of gibberish. I was too stiff to say anything other than monosyllables. I looked at him with so much hate, that I wanted to find the nearest sharp object to stab him in the chest.

"I have to talk to you," he pleaded. "I wanted to tell you…"

I cut him off. "There is nothing you can say to me that will make me hate you any less. So save your breath and leave me alone!"

I scrambled to my feet and looked around for an exit.

He was right in front of me in an instant.

"Please…" he flinched when I backed away from him. "I didn't want to leave you," he exhaled noisily. "Your father threatened me, and you were only seventeen, Bella. I wasn't about to go to jail because I had people relying on me."

I laughed mirthlessly. "Why the hell didn't you think about that before you…" I couldn't finish; I didn't want to go back to that night. Never again. I closed my eyes and willed the memories away.

"Please, Bella," his throat bobbed as he swallowed, moving forward again until we were mere inches of each other.

"Keep out of my way while I'm here or I swear to God, I'll kill you!"

"I fell in love with you," he said, ignoring my threats. His eyes looked down at me fervently.

"Oh, God, you make me sick!" I moved unsteadily until my back hit the wall, trapped and struggling under Edward's presence. My stomach was heaving violently. "Please go away," I said quietly. "There's nothing for us to say to each other."

"I can't, Bella," he said hoarsely. "I love you," he reached up and cupped my face in his hands. "Marry me, please?" I pulled his hands off then backed away.

I slapped his face so hard the mark stood out - first white, and then scarlet. He reeled with the impact, disbelief clear in his eyes.

"Get out of my sight," I clenched my jaw shut.

Undeterred, he moistened his lips with his tongue and rubbed the blood back on his cheeks. "Please consider it," he said. "I would have married you, Bella, if I could…God, don't you think I wanted to? I was desperate for you. His voice held the leaden sound of anguish. "I was trapped. I didn't know what to do but take the coward's way out. That night, I meant to say goodbye. But then you were standing under the moonlight like a nymph – beautiful and unattainable and I couldn't stay away."

I bit my lip so hard that I tasted the hint of copper on my tongue.

"I'm not the little fool I was when I met you," I said acidly. I couldn't even bear to say his name. "You saw to that. You came intending what happened…I was nothing but a play thing, right? I never stood a chance."

He closed his eyes for a moment. "Bella, I…"

"It doesn't matter. You're too late," I shrugged; about to utter the biggest lie I've ever told. "I'm in love with Jasper."

I was determined to play a game tonight and the rest of the weekend.

Edward would not get the better of me this time.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hoh snap! tsk, tsk, Bella. What kind of game are you playing?**


	14. Chapter 14  Samson

**A/N: I do not own Twilight...nor the song Samson by Regina Spektor. **

**Thank you for the reviews! *waves to new readers***

**Anyway, today is my friend Annie's birthday. I worked extra hard to get this chapter for her! Happy Birthday, Annie! **

* * *

><p>"<strong>You are my sweetest downfall<strong>

**I loved you first, I loved you first.**

**Beneath the stars came fallin' on our heads**

**But they're just old light, they're just old light. **

**Your hair was long when we first met."**

**- Samson by Regina Spektor**

**Chapter 14 – Samson**

I kept my eyes on his face, watching the driven agony that came and lingered. The fire in his eyes dimmed with pain while I waited for the satisfaction from hurting him to come. I searched inside for some semblance of joy…but there was nothing.

I clenched my hands into fists and forced myself to go on. "Jasper and I have been lovers for some time," I said. The lies just kept piling up. And in some sick way, it eased my bitter pain to see his.

He backed away slowly; like a member of a bomb squad to a ticking parcel and walked out of the room with hunched shoulders. The room reverberated with the pain I'd purposely inflicted, echoing in the yawn that seemed to have opened wider inside.

Minutes past and I remained rooted to the spot, frozen in shock. I could hardly recognize myself anymore.

When I realized what I'd done, the tremors started – violently wracking my body. I wish I could feel any triumph but all I felt was bereft emptiness.

Edward was caught in his own trap. I didn't have to think about killing him anymore…he was going to do it himself. I could see it in his eyes. The drinking, the guilt, the regret was eating him alive. I'd seen the jealousy, the hunger, the need when I told him Jasper and I were together. I should be feverish with pleasure but instead, I was just…heart sick.

I lay down on the bed and tucked myself in, deep chill seeped into my bones that had probably no chance of warming. I had to stay calm. Edward was at my mercy and I could easily take revenge. He deserved everything that he would get from me. I've thought about his marriage proposal. What would be a better form of punishment than to sic him in a loveless marriage? No sex or any kind of intimacy. We'd sleep in separate rooms and I'd make sure I was there but not really _there._ The gears in my head kept turning.

And amidst all these, I'd forgotten one simple factor in this sick equation.

This would all be devastating to Jasper. From the first moment, he'd been an easy and comfortable company. He almost felt like home. I didn't want to admit it at first, but for a minute I thought we could've been happy together. But now it would be impossible because Edward was his brother. A chance at a new beginning with someone else, shadowed by his darkness. If he was at my mercy, then my happiness lay in his hands. How could I ever be free of him?

If Edward didn't exist, Jasper would be so easy to love; even if I wasn't capable of ever loving anyone again. After this weekend, Jasper may wish he'd never met me. My chest ached with the realization that I was no better than Edward. I was using Jasper to hurt Edward.

I pulled the coverlet and buried myself deeper into the bed. I wished I didn't have to leave the room.

Edward could say what he wanted to say but the fact still remained that he didn't come back for me. If he loved me as he claimed, he would've done everything to come back. So what had stopped him? Why did he leave me to fight my way out of the misery of his aftermath?

He was a coward; too frightened to face what he had done. He didn't even have the courage to stick around the next day. I wondered; would things have turned out different for me if he'd said his goodbyes? If he'd at least tried to make me understand why he had to leave? If he'd apologized? Would I still have made the decision to dig myself a watery grave?

My heart raced – so much wasted time and wasted grief could've been avoided had he been forthcoming to begin with.

I breathed heavily as I tried to calm myself. I couldn't face him again looking as affected as I felt.

I stood up and found the ensuite bathroom where the reflection in the mirror told it all. My face was lily-white and my mouth was grim – an austere picture of a ghost. There wasn't much I could do about my trembling fingers no matter how hard I tried to cover it up. I stepped out of the room, unable to postponed the inevitable.

I changed out of my dress and into another; this time, a white number that gathered at the waist, falling softly about an inch below my knee. I wore a gold thin belt with a pair of gold flats.

Quietly, I walked out of the room and made my way downstairs. The place was so huge that I thought I'd get lost. But I followed the sound of Jasper's laugh and easily found him and Esme in the midst of what sounded like a funny conversation.

Jasper glanced around then did a double take before whistling in admiration.

"You look fabulous!"

"Uhm…J," I started. "If you want to keep the pretense that you are indeed, manly, you might want to refrain from using the word, _fabulous_."

He ambled his way to me with that constantly amused smile plastered on his face. I tried to ignore the pinch I felt inside as the thought of hurting Jasper contributed in the nausea that had been permanent since we got here.

"Whatever. You're beautiful then,"

I smiled and hoped that it didn't look as awkward as I felt.

The dining room was breathtaking, decorated minimally in stark white and black. It had a massive table that could seat at least twenty people, which wasn't surprising for a family like the Cullens. They must do a lot of entertaining. The table itself was made of thick wood, varnished in midnight color. The white walls were almost bare if not for the single massive painting on the west wall – not Charlie's, thankfully. I didn't think I could handle staring at another macabre piece of art while I forced myself to eat.

"I hope you'll enjoy what the chef prepared for you, Bella," Esme's voice broke into my musings. She was looking at us with that look of a hopeful mother. It would've been easier if I could feel indifference toward Esme. But she seemed like a lovely person inside and out.

"I'm sure it'll be delicious, Mrs. Cullen," I said, my eyes not quite meeting hers.

"Please," she looked straight at me with a smile that showed brilliant white of her teeth. "I'd really love it if you'd call me, Esme."

We settled at the table that had a feast fit for the entire village. It would've been appetizing had my stomach settled from the churning exercises its been doing.

My nausea got worse when he walked in the room and sucked the already thinned air.

I didn't want to look at him, but avoiding him was futile. My body, my heart, my soul was attuned to his – instantly - like the days and the distance we've been apart didn't make a difference.

He cleaned himself up – showered and shaved. Even so, I couldn't help but notice the weight loss and the bruises around his eyes from lack of sleep or from drinking too much.

"Edward, honey, have you met Isabella yet?" Esme jumped out of her seat and was beside Edward in a flash. The attention seemed a bit too much for her fully grown up son.

"Yes," he mumbled under his breath then glared at Jasper's arm around my shoulders. "Yes, I have."

He sat unceremoniously across from us and quickly reached for the wine decanter – only to catch himself when Jasper looked at him disapprovingly.

"Can you keep your damn hands off her?" Edward erupted in a voice so savage it made the crystals on the table shudder. Jasper flushed like a schoolboy but he remained quiet. He took his arms off my shoulder then settled back onto his chair. All the while, I glared at my hands folded on my lap and wished for Edward's death. _The nerve of him!_

And what the hell was wrong with Jasper? How could he not say anything about Edward's outburst? What right did he have to tell anyone not to touch me?

But it was like nothing happened.

After what seemed like hours of awkward silence, Jasper started up the conversation again with Esme. They were talking about the business and Jasper's new assistant, Alice, who apparently could do nothing wrong. I thought he sounded more like a teenager with a big crush rather than a boss who's got nothing to say but good things about his employee. He gushed and turned pink when Esme called him out on it.

"Don't be ridiculous, mom," he said. His cheeks were still ruddy. "Alice is a colleague." They bantered on and on.

No one seemed to notice the dark cloud hanging over Edward and I or the religious way we avoided looking at each other. Jasper and Esme was oblivious to the brewing storm that loomed over us. I was afraid we were about to come head to head before the night was over. I've got to hand it to this family, they play a good game of pretenses.

Jasper served me some grilled asparagus then half a plate of the eggplant parmigiana. They smelled heavenly and looked just as good. But my mouth was stuffed with sawdust and couldn't savor the taste even if I tried. I played the perfect, courteous guest and pretended to eat, answered questions, even offered my measly opinions.

"So are you originally from Seattle, Bella?"

I've been lucky enough to avoid the dreaded questions about my life and I didn't really think I could fare well with Esme. She has that mother's knack for inquisition – the one that could smell the bullshit from a mile away.

"No," I said faintly then started again. "No, my father is from Forks but we moved to Seattle when I was little and then moved back again six, almost seven years ago. Jasper mentioned you were from there?"

"Oh yes!" she responded with more enthusiasm that I could stomach. "We used to have this place there at the end of town. And when I say the end of town, I mean, after our house, there's only the ocean."

She'd completely forgotten about dinner and started asking me questions about the town locals. _Where was such and such?_ Or _Does Mrs. Whats-her-name still live there? _Or, _that place that sells blah blah blah used to be owned by blah blah blah. _ I meant no disrespect but I wish I could tell her how hot my seat had gotten in the last minute or so. I'd hoped she could see me squirming but to no avail.

And then as if it couldn't get any worse, she asked the dreaded, "Do you know Charlie Swan?" I was going to answer if she had let me but she didn't really give me the chance.

"He's a world famous artist who lives in hiding there. These artists and their demons make up for the best art ever created. And Charlie is no different. After his wife killed herself he couldn't bear to see other people," she went on and on in between tiny bites of her lamb.

"Mom, stop," Edward warned. Jasper's head swung fast and gave Edward a puzzled look.

Unfortunately, any hopes of Esme stopping wasn't in the cards. She was on a roll.

I could feel their eyes on me; Jasper with concern, and Edward with remorse.

"And his poor daughter! She apparently followed her mother's footsteps and killed herself. Edward and I were at his last exhibit and the talk was that she couldn't bear the loneliness anymore," she ranted.

"Mom!" Edward and Jasper yelled simultaneously.

"What?" She finally stopped when she saw the anger in Edward's eyes and the pursing on Jasper's lips. Edward's anger I could understand, Jasper's I didn't. I never did tell him who my father was.

My breaths came fast as the gates of bitter memories burst open like a destroyed levee. Esme ignored her sons with a scoff then went back to slicing her lamb.

The atmosphere certainly changed for the worst. It almost felt like both Edward and Jasper were waiting for me to say something. Minutes of silvers clanging against the plates became the soundtrack of the disastrous dinner until the awkward, tensed silence almost drove me insane. Enough to start talking.

"She…" my voice shook. "My mom, she was depressed. I've always thought it was an accident but my father told me recently that she did it deliberately." I cleared my throat and kept going, ignoring Esme's sputtering apologies.

"I did, uhm…t-try to kill myself…but apparently, I didn't try hard enough. Because I lived…" I stopped before I could say anything further – before I could expose Edward for what he did.

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean—" Esme stuttered.

I gave her a weak smile in an effort to placate her.

_Bad idea._

"Oh you poor girl!" to my utter disbelief, she got up and hugged me. I hugged her back, hoping that she would go back to her seat. She did, after much mollycoddling.

"So you're Charlie Swan's daughter. You must've inherited his talents then!"

I guessed she wasn't done yet.

"And you must've noticed that most of our paintings were done by your father, especially the one in the great room! You sly girl," she smirked.

There was just something weird about her recovery time. It didn't take long for her enthusiasm to come back in full force.

"Well, actually, I also found out recently that Charlie Swan isn't my biological father. The one who fathered me beat my mother then raped her. So, no…I didn't inherit any of Charlie's talents."

_Except maybe for his sick humor._

"Jesus," Edward uttered under his breath, reaching for the decanter of wine and swigging the contents in its entirety.

At that point, no one really cared if Edward was drinking himself into oblivion. Not even Esme. I think I've given her enough shock to last a lifetime and whatever hopes she had of hooking me up with Jasper vanished as soon she caught a glimpse of where I came from.

There wasn't time to apologize because seconds after that, I was being pulled out of my seat and dragged by Jasper to another room. I could tell he was furious. The absence of his smile and the set of his jaw was a dead giveaway.

For some sick reason, I started laughing. Their expressions said it all. Esme's face was precious – a mix of utter shock, terror and pity. Edward's was even better – regret, guilt…but then he'd always wear those.

I didn't know what had gotten into me.

I couldn't seem to stop.

I laughed – until my belly ached and the food was in danger of coming out in a wonderful projectile.

I laughed till I was gasping for breaths or stop breathing altogether – whichever comes first.

Edward's face was burned into my brain. It was like a light bulb turned on over his head as he realized why Charlie was the way he was – the Charlie that he'd known. He understood why he was cold and why he treated me like a stranger in our home. He would know.

There was nothing funny about it and yet, I kept laughing.

I laughed until tears were streaming down my face.

I laughed until the jovial sounds turned to anguished sobs.

And then Jasper took me in his arms and pushed my head against his chest, whispering words like, _shh, it's okay, B. _

We stood there for who knew how long. I just wanted to soak up the calm that constantly emanated from him.

"You're so good at this," I garbled on his shirt.

"What's that?" his hand rubbed the back of my head tenderly.

"Comforting me…you're so calm and so soothing…you're like my personal lullaby."

He snorted then pulled my head off his chest. His eyes bore into mine, and that ache pinched me from the inside again. The one that kept nipping in that hollow space in my chest – emotions similar to what Edward looked like when I was in the same room.

"Or your personal blankie," he murmured.

I gave him a watery smile then added, "or my personal Xanax?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Okay, how about my personal Prozzak?"

I sighed and stayed where I was, looking up at him and he, looking down at me.

"Jesus, B. Why the hell didn't you tell me all this stuff?" He held my face in his hands, always with such tenderness that I found it difficult to look back into his eyes.

His question hung in the air like a mist, unanswered.

"I've got to hand it to you," he whispered as a ghost of a smile started to appear on his lips. "You sure know how to start a conversation going."

I laughed but it came out strangled and said, "Or end one."

"Yeah, that too," then I crumbled into his arms again because I was a selfish person and it felt too good to be cocooned in all of Jasper's warmth.

"Are you okay?" he murmured against my hair.

I nodded then pulled myself away.

"I feel kind of bad," I grimaced and looked back in the direction of the dining room. "I don't think Esme will invite me here ever again."

"Don't be silly. I'm sure she will." He suddenly had a faraway look on his eyes and his brows furrowed anxiously.

"Bella," he spoke with a serious tone this time. "The man who left you…the reason you tried to kill yourself…who was he?"

I wanted to tell him the truth.

I wanted to expose Edward for the soul thief that he was.

But I couldn't.

Jasper loves his brother and out of respect for him, I wasn't going to be the reason that he would look at Edward any other way.

"I think I've said enough about my horrific life in Forks," I said. "I can't bear to tell the story again…or say his name out loud without crumpling in pain. So please don't make me, Jasper."

He nodded but the knot on his brows didn't really go away.

"It's kind of weird how Edward jumped in to try and stop Esme, huh?"

How do I answer that?

"I mean – did he know your story?" He sounded like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "I just don't understand it…but I'm kind of glad. That's more emotion that I'd ever seen from him in the last little while. But he's beyond difficult tonight."

"I'm sorry…it's my fault."

"No," Jasper said quickly. "Don't you event think that. If you knew how he'd been the past year, you'd know that this is just another rotten evening in the life of Edward Cullen."

He gave me a fleeting look then he looked up toward the dining room, gasping indiscernibly.

I turned to look only to find Edward's retreating back. How much had he heard? Or seen?

"How did you know Esme was talking about my father? I don't remember ever telling you who he was."

He shook his head as if he was trying to vanish some awful memory. "It wasn't hard to tell by the look on your face…besides, Forks is a very small town. I could sense the grief rolling off of you in waves."

The drive, the stress of seeing Edward again and the constant need to play a part was a taking a toll in me. It had been the longest night of my life.

I blew out a breath then sat, rather violently on the couch. Rubbing my forehead and the back of my neck, I wasn't sure which part of my body really hurt. It felt like I've been hit a truck at an insane speed then bulldozed flat like a pancake. I couldn't go back to the dining room. I couldn't face Esme again tonight. I just wanted to hide in that bedroom and sleep, hoping that in the morning, everything that had happened tonight had magically erased or forgotten.

"I'm really tired, Jasper," I said after a while. "Do you think Esme would mind if I go to bed early?"

"Of course not," he dismissed my concern then helped me up to my feet. "I'll explain it to her. I'm sure she'll understand."

It hit me again how wonderful Jasper was. I'd never met anyone I liked more. He wasn't like Sam back home whose desires were blatantly obvious. Jasper didn't expect too much nor did he demand what I couldn't give. He would've been perfect…but what we could've had was ruined. I wasn't going to set out a future that involved Edward and being with Jasper in that sense would put me directly in Edward's path. Besides, he would probably do everything in his hands to stop any relationship I could have with Jasper.

"You can find your way to the bedroom, yeah?" He asked.

"Yeah, I've got my mental GPS on. I think I'll be fine," I smiled at him with trembling lips then we parted.

Upstairs in the hallway, I found myself meeting with Edward and immediately averted my eyes. He backed into the room from which he came, muttering something thick and inaudible. I threw him an icy look then insolently lifted my chin. _You don't scare me. _

My eyes flicked past him and into the room he came from. A reflection in a mirror hung opposite the wall stopped me - searing pain slashed like a knife to a butter against my flesh. I pushed past Edward without a word and flew into the room. My eyes glared at the picture hanging over his bed. For a moment, I was speechless with bitter rage.

Edward hurriedly closed the door, realizing what I'd seen. I turned on him as he moved toward me. I shook so hard I could feel my bones rattle. Unshed tears burned behind my lids as the point of no return for Edward and I came in a blink of an eye.

I went at him like a bull to a matador. Without a word, without a sound, I punched and kicked, and raged with all my might. His arms wrapped around my waist just below the undersides of my breast, trapping my arms in an effort to subdue me.

"You evil, you good for nothing…it was you! How could you do it? Have it hanging over your bed?" In my rage, I'd forgotten where we were, where I was…I'd forgotten everything but the hatred that was devouring me.

He moved fast. He caught hold of my trembling shoulders, his face hard and anxious. "Shh, baby…they'll hear you…please don't yell."

"That's all you're worried about?" I was so wrought up and didn't care at that moment if the entire state of Washington heard me. "You're scared of your stupid reputation? I should've just exposed you to your family, you filthy excuse for a human being!"

He clamped a hand over my mouth, silencing me, and when I began to kick and struggle again, he lifted me right off the floor and carried me to the bed, pressing his weight on my body. His eyes filled with anxiety as he looked at me earnestly.

"Don't, Isabella," he said huskily. "I don't give a damn about me. It's you I'm worried about." I screamed incoherently against his hand and continued to thrash even if it was no use against his awfully familiar body. "Bella, be still, please, you're hurting yourself, not me,"

I felt suffocated under his hand. My ears filled with a roaring thunder. The room was going around in dizzying circles…I closed my eyes, tears sliding out under the lids.

"Oh God," I heard him mutter somewhere from a distance. "Bella…" He took his hand away then stroked my cheeks. I forced my lids apart and looked into his face.

Weakly, I whispered, "How could you do it?"

"I had to have it," he said, his eyes flickered to Charlie's painting of that night, his face somber as he looked up at the stormy grey sky and the girl about to jump to her death.

"How can you sleep with that hanging over head?" The painting had haunted me ever since Charlie showed it to me. And yet Edward lay there every night with it above him.

"I don't sleep," he sighed heavily. "I drink."

"Is it some kind of trophy? Like notches on your bed posts?" I sneered. "What other trophies have you got, Edward?"

He looked back at me, hell in his eyes. "I love you." he said indignantly.

"Well, I hate you," I said with equal fixed resolve. "I despise you. If you were dying I wouldn't lift a finger to help or comfort you – I'd stand there and smile."

He listened as if he were made of stone, like he'd heard me say those words many times over.

"The day after you took advantage of me, I tried to kill myself," I said, surprisingly calm. "I went to the waterfalls and didn't even think twice about jumping. Charlie painted that so that we would both remember what you did to us," I looked back at him with disgust. "And you hang it over your bed?"

"It's haunted me every night," he whispered. "I thought you were really dead. I wanted to go back and talk to your father but I'm a coward, Bella. That's the reason why I bought it – it's part of my punishment. I know what I did. I loved you and I killed you. You can't hate me more than I hate myself."

I began to move out of from under him but he held on tighter.

"Marry me, Isabella," he begged. "I'll make it up to you. I'll do anything, please just let me try…I can't go on living like this."

"Are you forgetting that I'm with Jasper?" I said very softly, hoping that he wouldn't see through my lies.

The barb bit into his flesh. His eyes flamed like driftwood thrown into a fire, blazing green. "You can't marry him," he said strongly, fiercely.

"I'm good enough in your bed, but not good enough to be with your brother?" I asked with a saccharine smile. "If you love me as you claim you do, you would want me to be happy with Jasper."

His face got harder – scary almost. "I'd cut his throat or any man for that matter who'd come near you!" He bellowed.

His love was a savage devouring which had no real claim to the word. How could I move on from this? The truth of the matter is, there was no longer an escape. Edward would not stop until he got what he wanted.

We might as well exist in the same hell he created.

As if there was any other choice. I looked up at him and saw the sick way he thought he loved me.

And deep inside, I knew.

If marriage made in hell was what he wanted, then that's what I'm going to give him.

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><p><strong>Did you vote yet?<strong>


	15. Chapter 15  Long Road to Ruin

**A/N: Twilight has never been, will never be mine...and Foo Fighters...though I'd love to hear Dave Grohl scream my name in the throes of...well, never mind. **

**SORRRRYYYYYYY! I don't know what else to say except I can't force myself to write, okay? I know there are some people who are incredibly mad at me right now but I can't produce inspiration like sweat, mmkay? I'm going to be honest and say that I've not read any of the private messages I've been getting. The truth is, I'm terrified to read them. Just...sorry...a thousand times, I'm sorry. **

**Anyway, here's Chapter 15 - The Shiteth Hath Hitheth the Faneth (Alternate title). **

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><p><strong>Maybe the season<strong>

**The colours change in the valley skies**

**Dear God I've sealed my fate**

**Running through hell**

**Heaven Can Wait**

**- Long Road to Ruin, Foo Fighters**

**Chapter 15 – Long Road to Ruin**

I woke up to a light cutting through an inch-wide slit of parted fabric. For a moment, I was disoriented when I saw the heavy, thick brocade of curtain that looked as unfamiliar as the feel of the sturdy yet cushy bed holding my barely awake body. I blinked…gulped and let the travesty of last night washed over me. Heart racing, I shut my eyes tight and resisted the urge to groan as utter mortification caused my fingers to tremble and red hot blood to rush under my skin. All at once, my stomach roiled at the very thought of what awaited for me outside the door and the flood of memories from last night's debacle.

"_Bella, you can't marry Jasper," he whispered. "For God's sake, you must see why."_

"_Jasper loves me," I stared at him with disgust, enough that he looked away in remorse. _

"_Enough to marry you once he knows about me?" he said quietly, looking up again with smoldering green fire in his eyes. _

Have I really succumbed to what he wanted? Marriage? The concept is beyond laughable I could almost cry. I can't even come up with a good enough reason why this made sense - nothing but the innate need for revenge. What is wrong with me, anyhow? Twisted. Sick. Fucked up.

_My mouth quivered. "No," I said bitterly. "You've ruined that for me, too. A chance, hope…redemption from the hell you put me through. You've ruined me for every man whom I'd dare to try and have a normal relationship with. I can never be with Jasper because if I did I would have to tell him that his brother already had me!"_

The sound of the turning doorknob jump-started my heart into hyper speed. Thankfully, it wasn't Edward. By the sound of the footfalls on the plush carpet, Jasper woke up on the right side of the bed.

"Wakey, wakey, Sleeping Beauty…" He drawled as he glided toward the bed. My riotous heart quieted down some. "Esme has got quite the spread downstairs."

I blew a careful, slow breath in an attempt to shake off the memory of Edward's face last night, however futile it may be.

"_Thank your lucky stars I'm not vindictive_…_because if I was, I'd tell Jasper the whole ugly truth about you."_

"_You can tell the president, as far as I'm concerned," _he said. _"I'm only thinking of you."_

One press of a button on the wall beside the headboard and the curtain slowly opened. The brightness of the day pierced my head until it throbbed in a muted cadence.

"Ugh! J…" I groaned and covered my face with a pillow. "I'm so not ready for your enthusiasm this morning," I said, the words muffled.

"What was that?" He yelled out, smirking.

"Shut up!" I tried to hit him with the pillow but he quickly dodged out of my reach.

"Come on, I'm starving!" He whined and pulled on the warm blanket that cocooned me.

"You're always hungry," I mumbled and stumbled out of bed.

"I'll be downstairs," he said, ruffling the tangled nest that was my hair. "Just follow the smell of bacon, B!" He bounded out of the room, leaving a trail of sunshine and happiness to my dismay.

I sat down on the bed again, violent thoughts and equally tumultuous emotions wracking every piece of my being.

"_A little late with your concern for my welfare, isn't it?"_

_He bent his head, admitting the justice and the truth in my accusation. _

"_If you married him without telling him, he'd find out, Bella. And when he did, that would be the end of your marriage. Jasper couldn't forgive such a deception."_

I should've told him right there and then that he was the only one under the illusion that Jasper and I were more than friends. In his defense, I never corrected his assumption. Why he insisted that we were bound for matrimonial bliss escapes me, however. Regardless, I wanted him to suffer just a little bit more.

"_I'm willing to take that chance. Just butt out of our lives!" _

The rest of the night was a painful reminder of the sad future ahead of us. But the thing that stood out the most was my incredible need to be near him, no matter how torturous it may be – for the both of us.

"_You can make your own conditions if you marry me, Bella," he sighed deeply. "Name your own terms. I swear I'll give you anything."_

"_I'm not marrying you to silence your conscience. I'll wait until I find a man strong enough to carry the burden of my past without blaming me too much."_

_He looked at me directly, pain still etched on his face_. _"And will you love him, Isabella?" He asked me, holding my gaze without an ounce of guilt._

"_Tell me you don't love me and I'll believe you now."_

Oh how easy was it to lie? I should've told him that my feelings for him were comparable to how I felt about my biological father. Disgust and loathing without end. But I had a feeling that the other option would hurt him more. So I laughed, my eyes frantic and wild. _"Will that make you feel better about yourself? Fine. I loved you and stupid me, I still do," _I said with all conviction. _"But I'll never marry you, Edward. I'll see you in hell first, and I hope I do. Because you claimed to have loved me and yet you put your own needs, your own passion, before me! I almost died for you! I'm an idiot. I should have come after you then and killed you. I wanted you to see what had become of me."_

There was silence between us then. But Edward wasn't done yet.

"_Please…" he begged. "I need you. I need this chance, Bella. This thing between us will kill me!" _

The reality of our situation was that we could never start over. It would be a cold day in hell before he'd let me go. And for some sick reason, I felt the same way. I wanted to be his judgment and his prison sentence. It didn't matter how much I hated him. And I knew then, without a doubt that I agree with him whole-heartedly. The marriage would either fix us for good. For better or worse. What happened after I left Edward's room almost exposed our repugnant past.

As I closed the door to his bedroom, I came to a sudden halt, startled to see Jasper in the hallway. He was immobile, staring at me as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"_What the hell is going on? What…?" _his voice trailed off confused as he looked from Edward's door to my face then back again. He moved toward me then and continued to rush past me right into Edward's closed door. I followed him; terrified that he'd heard everything that had transpired in Edward's room.

Edward got up from his bed as soon as Jasper charged inside. All the broken emotions were gone in an instant. What was left was a sweeping anger that vibrated from his inside as evidenced by his shaking hands.

"_What was she doing here? What's going on between you?"_

Edward frowned, his lids blinking as I watched him tried to come up with amillion ways to get out our mess_. "Don't jump to conclusions, Jasper…it's all perfectly…" _His voice died as he looked past his brother and at me._ "Tell him, Bella," _for a moment, I thought he was going to expose us. I shot him aglare enough to melt a glacier_. "Tell him we were just talking, that's all."_

"_Talking? Why do I have the feeling someone's lying?"_

Edward's mouth compressed into a thin line. "_Don't you trust your girl, Jasper?"_

I fled then. I couldn't stand anymore of our charade. I was tired, spent and empty. The adrenaline left me all shook up. I did hear them yelling at each other right into the night. Esme must've heard them because soon after, I heard her soft voice placating her sons. But it was no use. Jasper called Edward a drunk, and Edward called his brother every conceivable insult he could throw at him. It went on for hours, it seems. Until I heard the door slammed and someone standing by my room, breathing harshly. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, in case someone would attempt to barge in.

Moments thereafter, I found myself drifting off into a deep slumber. Funny how things worked out like that. My usual nights were a succession of nightmares and restless sleeps and yet there I was, right in the lion's den and I slept like an infant swathed in deep warmth. The seam of irony was priceless.

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><p>An hour later at the breakfast table, I was avoiding looking at Esme's face. Her concern and contrite face was painful to see. I sat there staring at my toast and slices of fresh fruits. I've swallowed an enormous amount of bile since stepping into her house and the taste was fermenting in my mouth. It wasn't much of a breakfast.<p>

Jasper turned to look at me. "Listen, B. I'm sorry about last night. Things just escalated from bad to worst…I hope you won't hold it against Edward. He's just…I swear, he's getting better." I smiled at him in reply while Esme proceeded to follow in Jasper's apologies. Hers, was for being nosy.

"Esme, please," I finally looked up. "I should be the one to apologize. I had no business telling you all the horrors of my upbringing. I just…I don't know what came over me, I'm sorry."

She stood up and I just knew she was going to hug me again. I tried not to flinch but all these affections seemed all very strange to me. Her flowery scent enveloped me again and I don't know…maybe I felt too bad for the dinner from hell last night that I found myself returning her hug.

Maybe there's hope for me yet.

"You're welcome here anytime, you know?" She looked at me with misty eyes. "I know you don't really have anyone in the city but if you ever needed someone to talk to…to go shopping with or to go to one of your father's shows, call me."

"I will," I mumbled. The breakfast became light hearted then. It was as if a blanket of clouds moved away from the dining room.

Sadly, it was short-lived.

"Good morning," Edward strolled in with wet hair and bleary eyes, careful not to look at anyone but the floor. He came and took a cup of coffee and nothing else.

"Edward, honey, come sit down and eat with us," Esme implored.

"No thanks," he said and proceeded to walk back out of the dining room.

"Wait," Jasper stood up with an apologetic face and a ready smile. "Listen, bro, I'm sorry about last night. You know I didn't mean those things I said."

Seemingly confused, Edward patted Jasper on the shoulder then left the room.

"He doesn't talk much," Jasper said as he sat down beside me again. I could tell that the concern he has for Edward ate at him. "He'll be fine…"

I reached for his hand and squeezed. It was like déjà vu.

"Anyway, Mom, I think we're going to head out soon. Bella still has some reading to do for her classes tomorrow and I don't want her falling behind." He moved to clear his plates and planted a kiss on his mother's head on the way to the kitchen.

A comfortable silence descended upon us, the tense moments seemed to have been forgotten. "It hurts him to see his brother like this," Esme started. "Edward's pain is a burden that Jasper took on as if it were his own. Sometimes, I think Jasper's the only one keeping hope."

"Jasper told me he was married once…is he still grieving for her?" I asked cautiously.

Esme had that far away look, as if she was trying to compose what she was going to say. "No," she shook her head. "Their marriage was a sham to start with. Edward needed a woman to cater to his successful, executive life. I thought of that many a times. It just didn't make sense. Their marriage was like a business arrangement. Lauren came from a family like ours – rich, privileged, and so it only made sense that Edward would marry her. When she got sick, Edward stopped working. He tended to her out of obligation and not love."

"Perhaps he was feeling guilty?" I offered.

"No…it goes deeper than that," Esme stared at the plate with a flitting smile on her face. "There was a point after Lauren was buried when it seems like a weight on his shoulders has been lifted off. He was carefree and not necessarily happy but…what's the word? Content? He wanted to take a week off before he went back to work, he said. Of course, he didn't need our permission to do anything. When he came back, it was as if he was grieving again…only this time, he'd fallen into some deep depression that no one could reach him." My heart pounded at the possibility. That maybe there was some truth to his lies. Maybe he didn't really want to leave me. But all at once I berated myself. What kind of a monster just barely buried his wife and then took a girl's purity with his seductive words and promises of a freedom she'd only dreamed of?

"I think I'm going to go talk to Edward for a few minutes," Jasper announced as he walked back in. Esme and I fell into a silence and avoided looking at each other – afraid to see the guilt in both our faces.

"Well, I'm going to get my bag ready," I stood up and offered Esme to help her with the dishes, to which she shooed me away.

"Someone will come and take care of this, go ahead and get ready."

I followed Jasper to the hallway and up the stairs, careful not to look into Edward's closed door.

"Give me about twenty and I'll come and get you, 'k, B?" He didn't even bother knocking on Edward's door; he just walked in full of confidence.

It wasn't even long until I heard Jasper exclaimed, "What the fuck is that?" Terrified, I crept back quietly toward Edward's door to investigate what set him off. It didn't matter; within seconds, the door flew open as Jasper tumbled out.

"Bella?" He lost all colour to his face. He'd seen the painting. He beckoned me to come and I did…stupidly.

"Why is that on your wall?" Then, with his voice rough with some sort of betrayed pain and recognition he said, "when Bella arrived you never even hinted that you knew her, yet you have a picture of her over your head…and I saw her walking out of your bedroom last night…I didn't…didn't notice that painting last night because I was too distracted by what I saw. I was too angry," he stopped, gulping in air as if he was drowning. "Tell me now, please, both of you, no more lies."

"A-and…I just remembered…when I walked in you both looked shocked, terrified even and the dinner," he trailed off again as more of the ugly truth slowly dawned on him. "He was the bastard who hurt you, isn't he?"

I nodded.

Edward moved impulsively, warningly.

"What difference does it make now?" I asked quietly.

Jasper drew a sharp breath. "But you were only…you were a minor?" I shut my eyes tightly, unable to bear the pained look on his face. "Did you use me to get to him again, Bella? My God! You look so innocent…"

I swung away, shuddering…shattering. Edward sidled up beside me, his face pale with anxiety and pulled me against him, his arms wrapped like a vise, suffocating me even more.

"Don't, Bella…don't love,"

"Love?" Jasper yelled, his voice tight with anger held in checked. "Love?" He laughed.

I pulled away from Edward, my hands on his chest held him away. "I'm leaving," I said in a low voice.

"Like hell you are!" Jasper spat. "I can't believe I was taken in by a girl with the face of an angel! So what are you supposed to be? His past time? Mistress?" He said accusingly, throwing words meant to wound.

Edward staged toward Jasper, contained violence apparent in his gait. "You do not speak to her like that!"

"Yes," I said very quietly, clearly.

There was silence, as both of them stared at me. Jasper's lips drew tight into a bloodless line. Edward took my hand and pressed his lips on it reverently. "It wasn't like that, Bella, you know it wasn't. I'm not going to allow him to talk to you like that." He swung his head around and looked hard at Jasper in defiance. "I love her. I've asked her to marry me."

Jasper sat down wearily on the bed as though his legs would not carry him any longer. "I don't understand any of this," he muttered.

"It's got nothing to do with you, Jasper," Edward said, looming over his brother like a dark storm. "I can only apologize that I never told you about her but I can never apologize for being with her, no matter how short-lived that may have been."

Jasper looked up, his eyes on my remorseful face. "You've been going around with me for weeks, B. You've kept all this a sordid secret, and you say it's got nothing to do with me? You lied to me; you let me think that we might've a chance…"

"She didn't know who I was," Edward said in my defense. "I never told her my real name."

Jasper stared at him with hatred. "Go on," he whispered, face ashen. "There's more, I can tell. I'm not blind. The room erupts in electric current when you guys are in it at the same time. I'm not moving until I hear everything."

"It has nothing to do with you!" Edward insisted.

"She gave me the right to know the second she stepped into this house!" Jasper yelled, red blooming in his face…and then the dawn of realization.

"My God," he said under his breath. "She was the reason for your destructive drinking, isn't it? The reason why you stopped living?" Jasper bobbed his head vigorously, as if in agreement with all his concocted theories.

"And you," he turned to me again, his eyes icy and unforgiving. I barely recognized him anymore. "Congratulations, you got what you came here for…it's a pity you had to put so much time and energy pretending to be my friend. You did a fantastic job though. You softened me up enough to make sure you got an invite to his house. You should've been more honest. If you'd told me you were gunning for dear brother, I might have taken pity on you and brought you here the second day we met."

I bore the gauntlet of insults he threw at me, because what else could I do? He'd never believe me no matter what I say. I'd wounded him deeply, though not deliberately. I wanted to tell him that it was his idea in the first place. Weren't he the one who thought that I could save his brother? Where did he get off blaming me for all his brother's transgressions? I didn't want to go here in the first place. But I guess, if you're feeling like you got betrayed by those people you trust, common sense simply flies out the window.

"It all made much more sense now," Jasper continued. "The first time you saw the car, you were staring at it…did you think it was him when I came up and spoke to you?"

I made no move to answer and he didn't appear to need one. His face was suddenly weary as he stood up with slumped shoulders.

"You should've told me, B," he said, his eyes on the painting. "What a fucking waste."

He walked toward the door but stopped just before he reached it. He gave the both of us one last contemptuous glare and swallowed thickly before he said the words that severed his ties to his brother.

"Don't expect me to come to the wedding," he said. "Or to welcome you as my sister in law. I'll never set foot in this house again and I hope that you're sober enough to come to work come Monday, Edward…because I sure as hell am done saving your sorry ass."

The door slammed in a reverberating force. I'd expected Esme to come in at any second. How could anyone not hear everything that had happened in the last few minutes? But I was thankful that she didn't come running to check up on us.

After a long silence, I moved toward the door but Edward caught my hand. "Don't go," he pleaded. "Listen, to me."

"There's absolutely nothing to say," I said quietly. "Nothing at all, Edward."

"I love you," he avowed. "You've admitted you love me. We – we could start over, on a clean slate. Bella, don't throw away what we have because of what I did. Just give me another chance." He was two seconds from falling down on his knees and begging. The piteous side of Edward was a little hard to take. I felt a smidgeon pang of guilt and quickly brushed it away. He deserved none of my pity.

I looked at him coldly. "You're asking me to forget the past?"

"I'm asking you to forgive it…or try. I know it's not going to happen right away. We were happy together once, we could try again. I'm not trivializing what happened to you because of what I did but I'll be damned if I let you go again." He stood in front of me, close enough to see the anguish in his eyes. His hands hung limply on his sides. I could tell he fought off the urge to touch me. "I'll do everything in my power to make you happy," he added adamantly.

I studied his face, eyeing him coolly and reading the etched lines of agony that had become so familiar to me in the last little while. "If I married you, you wouldn't touch me unless I allow it. I couldn't bear if you do."

He winced. "I swear, I won't, if that's what you want…" he trailed off, swallowing any other rebuttal he may have planned on saying. "I just want to be with you…to protect you," he added dejectedly.

"The only person I need protection from is you," I said, watching the spear drive straight home. "Will you swear to protect me from yourself, Edward?"

His jaw clenched, anger and hurt fluttered in his eyes. "Yes," he said, meeting the coldness of my stare. "I swear it, Isabella."

"And if I meet another man later? Someone I could love?"

It took him a while to answer. What drove a man to his knees like this? How far will both our humiliation go?

"I won't stand in your way," he muttered.

I hesitated for a long time. It wasn't as if I didn't have the answer before all our secrets were exposed. I knew in the core of my heart just how bad this could get…how much I'd suffer along with him. "Fine," I lowered my eyes, shielding the uncertainties that he might find there. "I'll marry you."

He exhaled his breath with a tired, worn sigh. "You will?"

"I will," I murmured then left the room in a huff. All the while I wanted to burst…and vomit.

"Isabella," he called out. "When? How soon?" he asked, following me to the hallway.

"I have to see Charlie first…and Christmas is coming soon so, we might have to wait until after the holidays."

"But that's weeks from now," he lamented. "You won't let him persuade you out of marrying me?" He looked tormented. "He'll be against it, Bella."

"I won't," I promised coolly. "I'll go next weekend." Remembering the woman downstairs, cold fingers of dread climbed up my spine. "What will you tell Esme? She'll be devastated."

Edward lifted his head, his mouth set in a grim line. "The truth," he sighed. "She can handle it…besides, I've spun enough lies to last me a lifetime. I think it's time I come clean to everyone."

"She loves Jasper…she'll hate me."

"She won't blame you, I'll see to that. I'll tell her everything that I've done and everything I'm determined to do to make you feel like I deserved this chance. I won't rest till I do, Bella."

He stepped closer to me and flinched when I backed away.

"You won't touch me…never again. Remember that, Edward."


	16. Chapter 16 Same Old Thing

**A/N: **I don't own Twilight, and the lyrics to the song, Same Old Thing. But I do own three copies of On the Jellicoe Road by Melina Marchetta. Don't ask.

Well, this fic was put up on The Lemonade Stand last week, hence the incredible outpouring of reviews - good and bad *cringes*. Well, I want you all to know how much I appreciate it. So I snuck in some writing in my cray, cray schedule. Believe it or not, Mercyrus, I do other stuff besides read books! Harrrumph. Anyway, here's Chapter 16.

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><p><strong>You got a callous heart<strong>

**From being torn apart**

**Now you labour everyday**

**Love life drifts away. **

**Oh no, it hurts me so. **

**- Same Old Thing, The Black Keys**

**Chapter 16 - Same Old Thing**

I packed my bag hurriedly with shaking fingers, shaking core. I doubt Jasper would be so inclined to drive me back to the city – actually, I doubt Jasper was even around at all. But I didn't waste time worrying about that. I was mostly worried about facing Esme and sickened by the fact that I'd just lost a friend - just when things were looking hopeful.

I winced, remembering Jasper's pain and anger, his disillusion and scorn. Could I have avoided it all? A small part of me would like to believe that I should've come right out and told Jasper right from the get go; because perhaps then, he'd have helped me avoid ever running into Edward. But no matter how many angles I looked at our situation, I've come to the conclusion that fate is cruel and meeting Edward was as inevitable storms in the coasts. Hundreds of thousands of people in Seattle and I ended up meeting Jasper.

I've also reached the conclusion that Edward was a destructive force in which I was fated to collide with inevitably. He was a keg of volatile nitro-glycerin. Touch him, even lightly, and he shattered everything for miles – at least, everything that had to do with me.

With a last look around the bedroom, I left and closed the door softly.

I found the devil waiting for me, dressed in casual attire and lounging like he owned the world. Soft, cashmere V-necked sweater paired up with dress slacks completed his appearance that masked the weight he'd lost. He was all wiry muscles, thick unruly hair in severe need of a cut and green sparkling eyes with a smudge of dark shadows just below the surface of his skin. There was something different in the light of his eyes this time, a cautionary happiness, perhaps? Different from the haunted look of last night.

He came forward and snatched my overnight pack. "I'll drive you home," he announced.

"To Seattle?" I raised my eyebrow. "Are you sober?"

He blew a breath in my face, which hinted of minty toothpaste, his essence and zero alcohol. Dismissing the tingles that were brought on by his closeness, I searched around for any sign of Esme.

"Is Esme around?"

I noticed the way his eyes shifted everywhere, as if he avoided colliding into mine.

"She had to go somewhere," he responded evasively. "Are you hungry? I can make you tea and toast?"

"No, not really," I responded. Food was the last thing on my mind at that moment. Tension was wreaking havoc on my insides.

He looked at me then, his mouth curving into a grimace when he saw my teeth gnawing furiously at my lip. "She went and followed Jasper home."

I nodded, sick with dread.

"We can stop somewhere to eat if you want," he offered.

"No, I'm fine – really."

I couldn't stay in the house any moment longer. I needed the comfort and the silence of my apartment. It would be easier to fall into pieces alone, where no one could bear witness to how I really feel about the bigger mess I'd made of my life. And for some reason, the thought of talking to Charlie gave me a sense of calmness even if I was a little bit afraid of what he'd say about my impending marriage.

Head bent and sick at heart, I walked out of the house without checking or caring whether or not Edward followed.

I stood just outside the front doors, hugging myself tightly as the crisp, winter air shocked me into a state of full awareness. In the daylight, the Cullen's house looked even more majestic. The skeletal mature trees partially covered the ostentatious building. It had a sweeping driveway that circled around a spherical garden in the middle, bare from the season. But I didn't have the chance to marvel too much as Edward came bounding out of the house with my overnight bag in tow.

The sound of a vehicle starting softly pulled me out of my reverie. I watched him stow my bag into the trunk of a plush _Panamera_, and then turned to help me down the steps. I ignored his extended hand and opened the door myself haughtily.

I sat there, trying hard and failing to stomp the admiration of the gleaming leather and overall lushness of the interior of his car. Edward got in the driver's seat and adjusted all the settings and what-not that he needed to in order to drive.

When he was done fiddling with all the instruments, he turned and smiled wryly in my direction. "I haven't driven a car in a while," he pressed a button that automatically pulled the seatbelts across my middle and locked it into place.

I jumped, as a giggle bubbled from my throat. I stamped it down before it all came out. His world, his life…everything about him was a discovery. Still surprising, given the circumstances.

The engine purred like a sleepy cat as we circled the driveway then out the compound. Inconspicuously, I stared at the long fingers, the powerful hands that once had the power to soothe and still has the power to destroy my carefully made veneer. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what they felt like and scolded myself for being weak. Touching him would be a mistake; to let him touch me would be disastrous. Once again, he held my heart in his hands – a sick thought that I couldn't even deny. Blind anger flamed my insides, kindling an already burning feeling that I've harbored toward him. I quickly looked away for fear that it might consume me. Hatred was a mild word for him. He was in my bloodstream like a disease, a flesh-eating virus eating me from the inside.

I blew out a frustrated breath that earned me a glance from the man who occupied my thoughts. I looked outside and focused on the sights, holding my contemptuous tongue.

"How old were you when you married your wife?" My sick curiosity got the better of me. Admittedly, talking about his wife was probably a less volatile subject than talking about us.

"Twenty," he replied as he deftly maneuvered the car down the slope. "We made sense – us, Lauren and I." He threw me a sideways glance, as if he wanted to judge my reaction. "Business, it was all there ever was." He didn't broaden the subject but confirmed what Esme had mentioned before.

An awkward silence descended upon us, as my thoughts traveled down the road I'd rather not venture on.

"Did you love her?" I asked quietly; knowing it would hurt if he said yes, and anticipating he would say no just to save himself.

He was silent for a moment, and then he sighed. "No," he admitted.

"Don't lie to me, Edward," I said sharply. "Don't ever lie to me again. If you want to marry me, you'll tell me the truth for the rest of our miserable lives."

His shoulders slumped, resigned. "I am telling you the truth," he said soberly. "Lauren was everything I needed at the time when I thought marriage would complete my life. She was breathtaking to look at and she knew everything there was to know about being married to someone like me. She came from a family in my circle. And for one second, I thought that I couldn't have asked for the perfect life."

I welcomed the sting of his words. It would be pointless to deny that I was jealous of his dead wife.

"Years passed and she became a fixture in my life, literally like furniture. Something I needed but was replaceable, nonetheless. Do you know how sick it made me feel when she fell ill?" He asked through gritted teeth.

I remembered the emptiness of his green eyes, the loneliness that he never spoke of. How long he had felt that way, I wondered.

"Did she love you?" I asked with compassion. Against my better judgment, my heart ached at the lonely existence they had shared.

He laughed harshly. "Lauren couldn't love anybody," he said in a bitter tone. "She loved the life I gave her. Every time I looked into her eyes, all I could see was perpetual boredom. I think we both checked out of our marriage long before she got sick."

I got a flash of what our future would be like. How long would it take for him to break? How far would we have to go until we could never go back? And suddenly, all the hurt that I wanted to inflict on him didn't seem so potent in the light of day.

I shut my eyes and banished the thought of not seeing it through.

"Did she have lovers?"

He didn't answer right away; his eyes revealed nothing.

"Maybe," he said impassively. "There was a point in our lives where we just became business partners." He looked at me then, his eyes seeking mine. "We just got too comfortable with our situations – friendly but not in the way best friends should be, do you know what I mean?" He looked at me askance, and then continued on. "Look, I could tell you all the things that could excuse my behavior toward you – or even an excuse for the way I let my marriage fell apart. But the fact of the matter is, I can't undo all the things I did. I did what I did and have been suffering greatly for it," he turned away, his eyes back on the road.

"For a while there, there wasn't much to look forward to. And now that you're here giving me a second chance…well, it's all I could hope for. I don't care if you're in this to punish me or whatever your reasons are. All I care about is that tiny hope that one day, you'll forgive me and we could actually make this marriage work, without guilt, without the sins of the past haunting us all the time."

I nodded mindlessly.

But an errant thought irritated me. They were married for years without having any emotional connection. I tried to bite my tongue but morbid curiosity won out.

"And so you turned to other women?" I murmured; hoping it was soft enough that he didn't hear me.

"Yes," he responded brusquely. "You wanted honesty from me, Bella. And if it makes me look like an even bigger asshole to you, then forgive me. Because I will do whatever it is you ask of me."

Pin pricks of hurt poked at my chest. "Did you love any of them?" I asked grudgingly.

"No," he swallowed thickly before her turned his head to face me. "I'm not going to lie to you and say I didn't want any of them. I did – some more than others. I have a normal appetite for sex, Isabella. But love? No. There wasn't anyone but you."

"Don't talk about me," I said curtly.

"Sorry," he drew in his lip and threw a series of cautious glances at me.

The traffic was thickening as we approached city limits. For someone who claimed to have not driven for a while, he drove with expertise and finesse. From time to time, his eyes would flicker into mine with an expression akin to that of reverent wonder. Like he couldn't believe I was sitting there beside him…or that he was scared I would vanish at any point in time.

I yawned, fatigue suddenly seeping from every pore of my skin. This weekend has been a nightmare – emotionally draining. I leaned back fully on my seat, my head cradled in the lush leather head rest. I closed my eyes for a second, hoping that a shut eye would banish the imminent headache that was coming.

"Where do you live?" I heard him asked.

I mumbled my address, already adrift in a shallow slumber. The stress of the entire weekend tired me out. A few minutes later, I felt his hand stroking my cheek but I couldn't bring myself to move. I nuzzled his hand, half-asleep.

He woke me up sometime later. I jerked away when I realized his face was much too close for my sanity.

"Are you hungry yet?" He asked. "I just realized that you haven't eaten and I didn't want to take you home hungry."

I blinked the sleepiness away and found the pounding in my head had gotten worse. I looked around dazedly at the stillness of our surroundings. The car was parked across from Monsoon, an upscale Asian bistro on 19th Avenue. My stomach rumbled at the thought of gourmet Oriental food.

"I guess that answers my question," he smirked. The familiar smile brought an inexplicable ache in my chest, which I hid by looking away.

I ran my hand through my hair in an attempt to tame the wayward strands and looked down at my wrinkled dress with a grimace. I wanted to ask him if I looked passable for the place but I refused to let him see the same uncertain and hesitant girl of the past.

I shook off the last remnants of sleep and plastered an indifferent smile on my face.

"I could eat," I mumbled through another yawn.

It was barely eleven in the morning so the place was just starting for fill up for the brunch crowd. A most amiable hostess whose eyes kept straying to Edward seated us right away.

I wanted to claw her eyes out and suddenly froze at the thought.

Sometime between knowing how harmfully woven my life had always been to Edward and my resignation to a marriage of farce, I also realized that there was a possessive part of me that was always, and would always be reserved for Edward.

* * *

><p>My appetite fled like a thin paper to the wind. I dawdled between taking small bites and pushing my food around the plate. My head was still pounding to beat of my pulse. In the meantime, Edward looked up occasionally and would frown from my lack of enthusiasm over the food.<p>

"Do you want to order something else?" he asked for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning.

I sighed and put my chopsticks down. "No, it's fine." I looked up and met his eyes; wariness dimmed the green reflection in them.

"Can I ask you something?" He spoke nervously.

I shrugged my shoulders; pretending to appear apathetic when deep inside, I fought for every ounce of jubilation that I should've felt but didn't. This defeated Edward would take a whole lot of getting used to.

"Were you and Jasper ever lovers?" He asked warily.

I looked him straight in the eye. "Does it matter?"

He smiled; the bitter kind that added an edge and shadowed the beauty it usually held. "You know it does," he said.

"How many women have you had, Edward?" I asked flatly.

He heaved an aggravated sigh. "Look, don't ask me to be rational when it comes to you. You don't know what it's like to know that other men have had you. But if you and Jasper were ever together, it would kill me painfully…slowly."

I looked at him without speaking, watching the darkness cloud his handsome face. Deep inside, a tiny flicker of sick enjoyment danced around the edges of my merciless heart.

"You shouldn't have told me that, Edward," I began softly. "One of my goals in life is to see you bleed to death."

Hurt shaded his eyes, blinking as if he could send it all away. "Then watch my face when you tell me you slept with Jasper," he uttered the words slowly, with utter difficulty.

And I did – with the fervor of an art devotee to a painting. I scrutinized the colors of pain and the textures of his regrets. It was all there, on his face for me to revel at. But yet again, I couldn't bring myself to lie.

"I didn't," and the darkness slowly eased from his face, like a moving storm swept by the wind. "I can promise you this, Edward," I went on. "I'll never lie to you. When I do go to bed with another man, I'll tell you."

"And watch my face," he whispered.

"Ardently," I said with a sneer.

"Don't, Isabella," he muttered. "You're hurting yourself as much as me. Don't you see that?"

The bravado slipped away slowly. He was right. I was hungry for revenge no matter how much it would cost me – and Edward offered it every time he looked at me. The mechanics was too easy, the execution, however, was painful to see through.

I couldn't swallow another morsel of food after that.

Another hour later and he had the car parked right in front of Carmen's. His apprehension was apparent with the restless drumming of his fingers on the steering wheel. When he didn't make a move to unbuckle my seatbelt, I searched the door and the dash for the button. When that proved to be a fruitless task, I felt for a latch at the end of the nylon harness. I gave up when I found none.

"Edward, are you going to unbuckle me, or what?"

He finally looked at me, the palpable hunger was intense enough that I had to look away to hide the burning of my face.

"When will I see you again?" he asked. His hand hovered over my arm, then fisted just before he could make contact.

"I'll call you," I said quietly.

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket for his phone then handed it to me. I quickly punched in the number at the apartment and returned the mobile back to him.

"Just call it once and I'll save your number." I shifted uneasily at my seat. He was boring a hole on my face, staring without blinking.

I sighed. It was awkward. "Now, can I can go?"

"You won't change your mind about marrying me, will you?" He was scared. I see it in eyes and the grim set of his mouth.

"I won't change my mind," I said with a bite of impatience. A few more awkward moments then he depressed a button on the side of my seat. I finally figured out how to unbuckle myself.

Finally free from Edward, I didn't waste any time opening my door. He was taking my belongings out of the trunk when I saw Carmen waving furiously at the window. She stopped mid-wave when she saw Edward walking around to my side. I looked down at my feet so she wouldn't notice my embarrassment. I left with one man and came back with another. I could only imagine what was going through her head.

"You live here?" Edward asked with a horrified tone.

"Yes," I said defensively. "For your information, it's a great place."

He nodded acquiescingly. "Can I come up?"

"I don't think so," I said, throwing cautious looks to where Carmen was still gawking.

"Can I at least walk you up?" He started guiding me toward the door of the café, to which I unconsciously pulled him behind the building to a private stairway that lead to the apartment upstairs, away from Carmen's probing eyes. I'd only let him as far as the hallway that lead to my apartment.

We stood there for what felt like forever; calculating each other's next moves. We were ensnared in an awkward duel. I was ready on the defensive while he gauged and analyzed his next move.

"I really have to go," I finally said, reaching for my luggage that he seemed to have grown an attachment with.

"When can I expect to hear from you?"

"I don't know, Edward," I snapped, irritated. "I'll call you when I've done what I needed to do, okay?"

He finally handed me my luggage after a few more wary looks. As I tried to turn away from him, he grabbed my arm and I stumbled on his chest. He grabbed the back of my head and tilted my shocked, angry face toward his awaiting lips. He kissed me hard at first – the kind that bespoke of his frustration; the kind that wanted to consume, the kind that I've missed…terribly.

My hand dropped the luggage and instantly grabbed on his jacket, pulling our bodies even closer. A flood of remembrance suddenly overcame my traitorous body; the familiarity of his touch, the electric current that zipped through my system, his taste. Everything came back in an instant that I had no choice but to respond. My hand traveled up his chest to his hair where I pulled with all the anger I could muster. But instead of feeling pain, he groaned then backed me against the wall.

His response was instantaneous, explosive. He lifted me up so our faces were at level. My legs snaked around his waist, bringing his hardness to my soft warmth. And then it was my turn to groan, out of the same pleasure, out of frustration, of anger and shame. His lips devoured mine with the same fervor as before, with the tongue that expertly sought every dark recesses of my mouth in the most hedonistic way possible. Time froze and all that seemed to matter was the incredible feeling of pleasure toeing the line of pain.

Then he stopped.

He breathed haggardly against my neck, planting soft kisses and mumbling his apologies.

I couldn't move; horrified by my adverse reaction. Every harsh breath was a testament to how easily he could have me. I was angrier with myself more than I was angry with him. I closed my eyes tightly and took deep, even breaths. When I was able to conjure up some semblance of control, I unwrapped my body from his and staggered to pick up my luggage.

"Bella," I'd heard him call. I fumbled with my purse in search of my house keys. I was shaken and ashamed. For all my talks of how he wouldn't be able to touch me, it was incredibly clear that my defenses were flimsy.

It took all my resolve and what was left of my dignity not to flee as if fire were licking my heels. I unlocked the door to the apartment, surprisingly, in one try, then slammed it closed to keep him out. Fortunately, he didn't even bother to try. Moments later, I heard his footsteps fading down the hallway.

* * *

><p>The next day, I found myself surrounded by the familiar cacophony of nature – back in Forks, with cocoons of butterflies fluttering open in my stomach.<p>

Charlie was predictably not in the house but in his studio, painting with the temperament of a man possessed…as always. I watched him for a while, considering he didn't even noticed he wasn't alone in the room anymore. There were speckled of white paint all over his plaid shirt, goops of red on his hair and streaks of blue running down his arm. I wish I could take a photograph of him. The passion evident on his face reminded me of a virtuoso, lost in the fury and zeal of his music.

I cleared my throat when I decided I've watched him enough – but still, he didn't even look up from the canvass.

"Dad," I called softly.

He finally looked at me, his eyebrow lifting. "What are you doing here?" He asked, surprised by my sudden appearance. "Don't you have school today?" He scrutinized my face, his features mellowing with worry. "Are you okay? You look like death." He carefully set down his palate and brush then picked up a rag that smelt of turpentine.

"Did I miss your phone call, or something?"

I just shook my head, re-arranging the muddled thoughts inside my head.

"I have to talk to you," I said quietly. "Come into the house. I'm in need of tea."

He followed me without a word, the distinct smell of paint permeating the air around us.

He sat down and watched me flutter in the kitchen. His face, etched with worry lines and age. More than ever, the heavy weight of what I was about to do rested on my guilty conscience. How could I put myself through this again? How could I do this to Charlie? He barely uttered a peep while I fumbled around making our teas. He had incredible patience – which, once upon a time, he wasn't known for. But I could almost hear the quiet whirl of the gears inside his head.

"It's too bad you don't drink, Dad," I said with a trembling smile.

"I'm gonna need some?" he asked, his eyes steady on my face.

I swallowed a lump down my throat then drew a cleansing breath. I could no longer prolong the agony of what I came to do.

"It's Edward, isn't it?" he blurted without preamble.

I gave him a watery smile. "You're so intuitive for your own good sometimes."

"I knew as soon as you came in," he looked outside absent-mindedly. "He's written all over your face."

I summon the words with staggering difficulty. "He's Jasper's brother."

He whistled under his breath. "Jasper is the guy you've been going out with the last few weeks, right?" He looked at me then, his face was a mixture of awe and stricken worry. "Small world." He added quietly.

"Edward lied about his name. Jasper invited me to meet his family and all of a sudden he was there – drunk and apologizing and a complete mess."

Charlie's eyes grew dark. "I see," he said tightly but he saw so much of the words that I've hinted at. It was as if he knew.

"Jasper found your painting in Edward's room and we had no choice but to tell him how that came to be," I choked on the words, remembering the humiliation of telling him the truth.

He put down his cup, staring at the scarred table with an intense scrutiny. "I'd guessed he had it," he mumbled.

"How come you didn't say anything?" I was staggered.

"We never talk about him, remember? It was the first thought that came into my head, for some odd reason. I don't know why someone would spend so much on that painting – more than what the asking price were."

"He had it hanging over his bed," I said passionately. "He looked at it day in and day out…H-how could he do that? To punish yourself daily like that!" I could picture the painting clearly. The stormy night, the anguished faces and the heartbreaking scene of a woman who'd lost the will to live, all because a man broke her heart. Stupid girl.

Along the way, something changed inside Charlie; like a sudden illumination came over him.

"I guess he wanted to share your pain," he whispered. "I never thought for one second that he didn't care about you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have told me the truth and we wouldn't have been any wiser. I just wish you were stronger. That is the thing that I couldn't forgive him for. He didn't think about the consequences." He added the last words with an angry fervor.

"Since you've been away, I've thought a lot about what had happened. And of course, I blamed myself for not being the father that you deserved. Maybe if I've given you the opportunity to live and see the world, you would have been able to see through a person, you wouldn't have fallen easily for him. But I can't forget the fact that you were only seventeen and he's ten years your senior. In my books, he's a criminal."

The white around his eyes were red, while his hands curled into fists in contained anger.

"He's been drinking himself to death over the last year."

Charlie nodded. "I guess that's one way to end your pain."

I remembered my mother's death and Charlie's coping mechanism then was not to die slowly. He buried himself alive in his work, slowly forgetting about a child who'd just lost a mother. Somehow, it didn't hurt as much anymore.

"And what about his wife?"

"She's been dead before he even met us."

"I guess he could've told me that then. Why couldn't he have just protected your reputation and married you, if that was the case?"

"But he didn't! And that's what I can't forgive him for. He was selfish – still is! All he cared about was - " I cut myself off, as I'd realized that we've had this talk before and that I was sick of repeating myself.

"Of course, you're right," he appeased me. "Of course you are and Edward knows it. Why else do you think he's been putting himself through this self-flagellation?"

I stared at the table. The hardest part is yet to come. But before I could speak, Charlie asked, "What about his brother? This…Jasper, was it?"

I smiled wearily. "That's over."

"What happened?" He asked concern in his face.

"Dad, didn't you just hear what I said? He found out about Edward and I. He'll never forgive me…or his brother for that matter."

He touched my hand, his fingers tender. "Bella, never is a long time." He said, smiling ever so slightly. "You'll see. Besides, if he can't see that none of these was your fault then it's probably for the best that you've separated ways. You're still young; you just need to learn from your mistakes and when you feel like Edward is sneaking up on you, just remember what it felt like."

"I'm going to marry Edward." I said in a rush of words that were barely incomprehensible. Then closed my eyes and waited for the explosion from Charlie. His fingers froze then withdrew. His breaths came in pants that reminded me of a person on the verge of an asthma attack.

"I'm going to marry him." I repeated quietly.

"Why?" His eyes were sad, as if he was watching me disintegrate piece by piece.

I opened my eyes then looked at Charlie straight on. "I want to punish him," I said with determination. "I want to put him through hell." To my ears, I sounded like a petulant child. Someone who'd not been given what she wanted.

Charlie smiled sadly. "I think he's been there and back, Bells."

My face was a bitter mask. I couldn't tell him that the sadistic side of me wouldn't rest until I bear witness to his suffering.

"You're only going to hurt yourself by hurting Edward, you know that don't you?"

I shrugged. "I can stand it if he can," I said flippantly.

"I don't give a damn if Edward can take it or not," he retorted with a slam of his fist on the table. "It's you I'm worried about. You'll destroy yourself if you go through this. Hate is like acid, it'll eat away at your flesh. Don't you think you've had enough suffering?"

He stood up; the crash of the chair against the floor jolted me from the haze of my despicable plans. His face was red with anger as he paced the length of our meager kitchen. "This is not you," he mumbled under his breath. "The girl I know was sweet, generous, loving child," he continued to pace the floor, once in a while looking at me with wild eyes, all the while breaking my already thinned resolve. "It's my fault…it's my entire fault…I can't believe this is what had become of you."

"Dad," I bit my lip; staving the tears at bay. "I am not fit for anybody else. Can't you see that? No one would want me and – and as sick as this may sound, I don't want anybody else."

"But don't you understand? I did the same thing to you. I shut you in a prison where the world can't touch you and now you're going to do the same thing. Only it will be worse because your prison sentence would be to a broken man whom you've vowed to destroy. I don't care how many times you've convinced yourself that this isn't as screwed up as the life you've known before Edward or how much you want to be with him – or worst, how much you think all of this is right…it's just not something a decent person would do!"

"Have you forgotten what he did to me, Dad?" I yelled. "I know what I'm doing is wrong. But I have no choice. He offered it himself. I'm going to see through it. I know it will kill me, kill us. But I can't back out. Now that he's back, I can't rest until I see the same pain I see in that painting!"

I stood up and took our cups to the sink. The tension in the air and Charlie's desperation to stop me from making another mistake were palpable in the air.

"You always have a choice, Bella," he whispered. "I've never had the opportunity to interfere in your life. But hear me now, please don't do this."

When he didn't hear a response from me, he sighed at the futility of his warnings.

"I've made up my mind, Dad," I said after a few moments. "Edward still has a long way to fall and I want to be there front and centre to watch him."

Charlie drew a harsh breath, and then rubbed his face with his paint-speckled hand.

"Child, you love him," he said, matter-of-factly.

I can only give him a bitter smile. "I do…passionately," I said. "Ironic, isn't it?"

He got up and walked out of the room.

I fled to my room. Since I've unloaded all the gory details to Charlie, all that was left was an empty, hollowed feeling – heavy and not at all like the feeling you get after unburdening yourself of a sin you've committed.

No.

Nothing like that at all.


End file.
